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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29878887">Harmony</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ftlow/pseuds/ftlow'>ftlow</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Challenge Yourself 2021 [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 08:42:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>21,965</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29878887</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ftlow/pseuds/ftlow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The battle ends after midnight; the fighters watch the dawn illuminate new scars.<br/>Voldemort is dead. The war is over - just like that.<br/>Everyone needs a little bit of help to come to terms with it - and for Hermione and Minerva, that help comes from one another. And poetry.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hermione Granger/Minerva McGonagall</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Challenge Yourself 2021 [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2149554</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>86</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>127</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Fandoms Challenge 2021</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Week 5 – write a poem.<br/>I know, it’s a big fandom again, but there are so many more weeks that I’m certain I’ll write for smaller ones in, and these two are just perfect for this prompt.<br/>No idea if it’s cheating to write a poem within a fic, but it dived into my head fully formed, I couldn’t help it!<br/>(The poem isn't until chapter 2. Smh. I'm useless at short things.)</p><p>For anyone who has no clue what the brownie guides are, it's a youth organisation, in this case for 7-10 year olds - like cubs, scouts etc, there are rainbows, brownies, guides and rangers.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nobody slept much after the battle was over. It was too much of a shock; there was too much to grieve for, too much to understand, and too much to do. Bodies needed recovering from the grounds; families needed to regroup; the news needed to be spread.</p><p>The Death Eaters stopped fighting when Voldemort fell. Some fled; some simply surrendered their wands and grieved like everyone else.</p><p>The Aurors were contacted to deal with the body of the wizard who had terrorised them for so long. The rest of the dead – including the Death Eaters and the magical creatures from both sides - were held in stasis to be collected by their families; ministry employees with specialist training were sent to deliver the news. Yet more were combing the grounds to find further bodies.</p><p>Healers from St. Mungo’s arrived before even the Aurors, and soon there were makeshift hospital wards set up in various classrooms not far from the Great Hall. Some of the Hogwarts staff rounded up the injured people and creatures, most severe first, and down to cuts and scrapes and broken bones later. Some of those injured had to be transferred to St. Mungo’s; some, with the expert care of the Healers alongside Poppy Pomfrey’s supplies and experience, were able to rejoin their friends and families straight away.</p><p>The fighters with no one to grieve wandered the Great Hall, exhausted, comforting one another and themselves. A few organised food and water, with the help of the house elves. Some simply stood, shocked, staring around. A few left to find their families, satisfied that they could do no more and the battle was won. Some who had not been involved in the fight arrived, staring around at the carnage, hurrying to help or comfort.</p><p>Minerva McGonagall was at a loss.</p><p>Her school was in ruins, her students lay dead and injured around her, with those who survived scarred more deeply than any child should be. The Aurors were doing all the things she would have; there was nothing to organise, nothing to lead.</p><p>Everyone was lost, and if she was honest, so was she. It had been a long year; a long couple of decades, really. It was hard to believe that it was all over. She sank carefully down onto one of the huge pieces of stone debris – possibly what remained of the steps which had placed the staff table above the house tables – and took a deep breath.</p><p>“Professor?”</p><p>She glanced up. “Miss Granger,” She acknowledged tiredly, ignoring the streaks of grime coating her student’s robes. “I’m pleased to see you are physically uninjured.”</p><p>Hermione raised an eyebrow at the wording, but didn’t comment. “Likewise, Professor. There’s… there’s something I need to tell you.”</p><p>Minerva gestured for her to do so.</p><p>“It’s Professor Snape. The Aurors have found him – found his body. He was in the Shrieking Shack, Voldemort – Nagini – well. He’s dead.”</p><p>Minerva processed that for a moment, wondering how she should feel. Severus had been a colleague for many years – even a friend, for while they snarked and competed like teenagers, she trusted him. More fool her; he showed his true colours a year ago. And yet, he could have done worse this last year…</p><p>“That is… unfortunate,” she settled on carefully.</p><p>Hermione stepped forward and spoke urgently. “Professor, he gave Harry some memories before he died. He was working for the Light, we’ve seen the proof – or Harry has.”</p><p>She opened her mouth and closed it again. “But he – he killed – “</p><p>“I know. It was agreed between them beforehand. Professor Dumbledore’s hand… the curse…”</p><p>“He was dying.” Minerva realised it before Hermione could finish her half-formed sentence. “And the old coot never told me,” she added bitterly. The sting of betrayal set her teeth together, jaw clenched painfully. She forced herself to stand. “Severus had no family,” she said briskly. “I will request he remain somewhere private, as most believe he was working for Voldemort, until his true colours can be shared with the world. Thank you for telling me.” She strode off towards the grounds.</p><p>It took her the full length of the Great Hall and most of the Entrance Hall to realise that Hermione was following her; she was so engrossed in her thoughts – wondering how much about this war they didn’t know.</p><p>“Miss Granger?” She questioned, slowing her long stride as she approached the great oak doors.</p><p>“Professor?” Hermione asked, slowing too.</p><p>“I know where the Shrieking Shack is,” she said pointedly.</p><p>“Yes, I – I’m just coming back outside. I’m helping the Ministry recover the dead and the injured.”</p><p>Minerva stared, distracted from her anger for a moment, thoughts of her best friend not telling her that he was dying chased temporarily from her mind. Emotion welled within her at the admission. “Don’t you think you’ve done enough, lass?”</p><p>Hermione blinked – both at the sentiment, and the very Scottish endearment, which she’d never heard pass the older witch’s lips before. “Enough?” She asked, and for a moment Minerva could see the student she had taught for six years through this war-hardened exterior.</p><p>She had changed; she was quieter, steelier, more serious. She was certainly thinner. The zest for life, the spark in her eye and the thirst for knowledge, was missing.</p><p>“Yes, Hermione, enough. The war is over, Voldemort is dead, and if it weren’t for you, that would not be the case.”</p><p>Hermione swallowed. “It’s bigger than that,” she replied, shaking her head and wondering whether she’d ever heard the Professor use her first name before. She didn’t think so. “Everyone has played a part. But after the year we’ve had… I can’t just sit still.”</p><p>Minerva sighed. She understood that feeling all too well. “What about Misters Potter and Weasley? Don’t tell me they are also still working.”</p><p>“No, they’re together, they’re with family. Harry is with Ginny, and they’re all with… well, with Fred.” Hermione shrugged and Minerva’s heart broke for the twins – for the whole family.</p><p>“And you don’t feel that you should be with them?”</p><p>Hermione shrugged again. “Maybe, but I can’t sit and do nothing,” she said. “I just… can’t. And they’re not my family like they’re Harry’s. Remus and Tonks are in there, and we need to clean this up so Teddy can have a childhood. They would have wanted that. Hogwarts needs to be Hogwarts again, not this… not this battleground.”</p><p>She leaned on the wall where Dolores Umbridge’s educational decrees had once hung and sighed. Minerva looked at her, properly, and realised for the first time how pale and tired she looked. Dark shadows stood out on wan skin and she looked haunted.</p><p>Minerva made a snap decision. She hadn’t been enjoying sitting in the Great Hall either, and Hermione needed a break, if not a rest. “Come, walk with me. Severus will wait; he is not going anywhere now.” She offered her arm.</p><p>Hermione blinked at her, bemused, but slid her hand into the crook of Minerva’s elbow anyway and accompanied her out of the oak doors and down the steps into the darkness.</p><p>They walked steadily around the grounds, picking a path between the debris of statues, glass, stone and plants. They neither ambled, nor rushed, and Minerva could feel the tension rolling off Hermione begin to reduce.</p><p>“Thank you,” she finally said softly, when she had relaxed as much as it seemed likely she could so soon after the ending. The glow of dawn was just threatening behind her, and Minerva smiled tightly.</p><p>“You are welcome. I understand being unable to sit still, Hermione, but action has to be interspersed with some time to yourself while you can get it. Rest doesn’t have to be still. I fear the next few months will be exhausting in an entirely different way to the last few.”</p><p>Hermione nodded her agreement, and stared out across the grounds. The castle was perhaps a half-mile distant, now. There were signs of destruction littering the grounds, with burned patches of grass, toppled and uprooted trees, and even a giant’s shoe pockmarking the grassy slope up to the school between the chunks of tower and statue. It looked eerily still after the flashes and movement of the battle.</p><p>She blinked as a stanza floated through her mind, and before she could even consider it, she was speaking.</p><p>“We are the Dead. Short days ago<br/>We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,<br/>Loved and were loved, and now we lie,<br/>In Flanders fields.”</p><p>Minerva stared at Hermione. She was full of surprises. The younger witch’s eyes were fixed on a prone figure being gently, respectfully, levitated from the wreckage by a uniformed Auror.</p><p>“That was beautiful,” she whispered. Hermione smiled thinly.</p><p>“John McCrae, from 1914. The Great War. I learned the whole thing,” she murmured, still following the progress of the Auror and his charge to the school.</p><p>“As did I,” Minerva replied gently. “I was referring to the way you recited it.”</p><p>Hermione finally turned to her; there was the smallest hint of her curious spark back in her eyes. “You learned muggle poetry?”</p><p>“I did. I was a brownie guide before I came to Hogwarts and I recited the full poem on Armistice Day,” Minerva recalled with a smile. “My first foray into public speaking, in the little square in my town, with what seemed like the whole population crammed inside it. I was terrified, but the words and the rhythm sparked an interest, so I continued to read.”</p><p>Hermione’s mouth had fallen open a little. “You were… a brownie?”</p><p>Minerva chuckled. “I was. I went to a muggle primary school. My father was a Presbyterian minister, and he had no idea my mother was a witch until we three got our Hogwarts letters.”</p><p>Hermione squeezed the arm hers was still linked with. “I had no idea,” she said softly. </p><p>“Few do,” she allowed. “That is not to say I am not proud of my heritage; I simply tend not to discuss it with people I do not consider friends.”</p><p>Hermione blinked, allowing that to sink in for a moment, and then smiled. “I can’t imagine you in a brownie uniform,” she teased.</p><p>“It feels like many lifetimes ago, but I am certain there are photographs somewhere,” Minerva replied with another chuckle. “Perhaps I’ll drag them out to cheer you up.”</p><p>Hermione – who had most definitely been joking – stared at her. “You’d do that?”</p><p>Minerva smiled gently, but she didn’t answer directly. “I was so relieved to see you three well,” she said softly. “Almost a whole year, and not a word… But I was so terrified that you were <em>here</em>, of all places.”</p><p>“I didn’t realise how much I’d missed being here,” Hermione answered, staring up at the castle. “Seeing you alive and well… I could have cried with happiness. I’m sorry we couldn’t contact you.” She turned suddenly back to face Minerva. “I meant to ask you – what happened?”</p><p>She reached up and gently touched a thin silver scar running from Minerva’s left temple to her chin, matched almost perfectly by a streak of dried blood on the opposite side. The scar was new, she was certain of it, because she used to sit on the right-hand side of the classroom. She would have noticed it before now if it had always been there.</p><p>Minerva shivered at the touch; Hermione’s forefinger was cool and rough, and she just barely resisted the urge to close her eyes.</p><p>“The Carrows,” she replied hoarsely. <em>What was wrong with her? </em>She cleared her throat. “The Carrows didn’t appreciate me trying to stop them torturing students in detention. I was treated to my own Cruciatus and I hit a shelf with glass jars on. One cut my face; it wasn’t deep, but the jar contained something which kept the wound open for longer than Poppy would have liked. I didn’t think the scar was so obvious.”</p><p>“It’s not.” Hermione frowned at the story, hating what everyone at Hogwarts – including this incredible witch – had been through over the last year. She ran her finger down the soft skin next to the silver scar again, brushing aside a piece of hair that had come loose from its usual stern bun. “It’s not obvious at all, Madam Pomfrey did a good job with it if it was open for a while. Very neat.” She pulled her hand away suddenly, guiltily. “Sorry,” she added sheepishly.</p><p>Minerva lifted one shoulder elegantly. “We all carry scars. This is by no means my first, and I doubt it will be my last,” she said ruefully, subconsciously rubbing her chest where four simultaneous stunners had marked her with circular burns. She turned her gaze on the castle. “There are many, now, far too young to be carrying the scars they have gained these last years. The castle will be scarred, even after we make the repairs. There are holes in families… scars that will ripple down generations.”</p><p>Hermione was watching her speak; there was a faraway look in her eyes, as if it wasn’t the castle she was seeing, but a memory. She had to remind herself that the witch beside her had lived through Voldemort’s first reign, and Grindelwald’s, too; she had three wars’ worth of memories to draw on.</p><p>“I’m glad,” she said quietly. “If we had to have a war at all, I’m glad of the scars. Every young witch or wizard in Britain will come through these doors, and see the castle’s scars, and the scars on their staff and their friends’ families. Maybe we will all learn something from it, and things will be harmonious for a while longer this time than last time.”</p><p>Minerva stared at her for a moment, and shook her head, smiling sadly. “Your amazing mind will never cease to amaze me,” she murmured. “You see things in such a unique way. I’ve missed you in classes. I’m glad you weren’t here to see the school as it was, but I missed your input.”</p><p>And she pulled her into a hug, pressed her lips to her forehead.</p><p>“You’ve grown,” she laughed. “You were hardly up to my shoulder last year.”</p><p>Hermione – shocked by the display of affection and the close contact, both after a year of lacking them, and from <em>Professor McGonagall</em> of all people – simply stood still, absorbing the warmth and the comfort.</p><p>“How do you remember details like that?” She asked.</p><p>“Years of teaching experience,” Minerva murmured, still holding her tightly.</p><p>Hermione gradually relaxed and snaked her hands around Minerva, sighing and absent-mindedly fiddling with the very ends of the ebony strands that weren’t in pins any more. “I missed your lessons, too,” she told her gently, resting her chin on one slim shoulder. “I missed learning, and I missed being here.”</p><p>And they stood in their gentle embrace, letting the night’s events sink in as the sun finally came up, illuminating a new day.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A year later, the grounds were unrecognisable – both from the aftermath of the battle, and from how they had been before the war.</p><p>Some of the stones had been left where they’d fallen. Plants were beginning to snake up their smooth edges, and the grass was longest in their shadow. The giant’s shoe remained.</p><p>Some of the areas of grass which once were smooth now had gouges and sites of impact, where spells had blasted, or giants had fallen. The grass had regrown within them, too; nature had recovered much faster than humanity.</p><p>The Whomping Willow remained, now with a perimeter fence. The tunnel to the Shrieking Shack had been sealed.</p><p>Beside Albus Dumbledore’s tomb was a memorial stone to one Severus Snape. Minerva – now headmistress – had decided that any headteacher who died in service to the school should be memorialised or buried there, should they wish.</p><p>Incidentally, Severus was buried in the graveyard near his childhood home, where he had his best memories of Lily Potter. It was Harry’s suggestion, and Petunia supported it.</p><p>The castle was whole once again – but not as it once was. The damaged stonework had been repaired, but where there were pieces missing, they had been replaced by the same white marble as the tomb and the memorial stone by the lake.</p><p>In the Entrance Hall, everyone who died in the war had a portrait hung on the wall. One of the four walls was dedicated to those who died in the final battle itself, on the grounds. At Minerva’s insistence, the deaths on both sides of the war were included, and so were muggles with any magical connection – that is, any muggle to whom someone within the castle had been, or would be, related. She wanted everyone who walked through the castle doors to feel that their personal war was reflected, one way or another, no matter who their ancestors were – magical or muggle, on the side of the Light or the Dark.</p><p>The castle had scars – literally, the white marble snaking up the walls. The grounds had scars.</p><p>Yet the school was about to reopen. Everything inside was ready. There was a full staff team ready to welcome the students back to the castle. Families had had a year to find their new normal, bury their dead, grieve, and heal from their injuries. Funerals had been wrapped up, and outstanding supporters of Voldemort had been tried and sentenced. Azkaban had been overhauled.</p><p>There was just one thing left, and that was the year-anniversary dawn service.</p><p>White chairs were laid out on the smoothest part of the grounds remaining, facing the castle. The just-rising sun glinted off the marble inserts. Creatures were gathered at the edge of the forest, and the seats had slowly filled with witches and wizards – and in some cases, their non-magical families – from every corner of the country.</p><p>Harry Potter was standing behind the dias, white as a sheet, scar standing out as vividly as if it still pained him.</p><p>“Harry, you taught Defense to most of our year!” Hermione wheedled.</p><p>“I know, but that was teaching people my own age, and I wasn’t exactly keen on the idea!” Harry snapped. “This is speaking to half of Wizarding Britain as if I’m some sort of – of leader!”</p><p>Hermione rolled her eyes. “You know what you’re going to say, you’ve practiced. It’s going to be fine.”</p><p>Kingsley Shacklebolt approached them carefully. “Ready?” He asked.</p><p>Harry shrugged miserably. Ron clapped him on the shoulder and Ginny took his hand. Hermione looked up at Minerva and smiled; she returned it gently, regal in emerald dress robes trimmed in gold.</p><p>Kingsley stepped onto the dias. “Sonorus,” he muttered, and then spread his arms. “Welcome,” he intoned. The whispering stopped at once; he had been elected Minister for Magic in the week after the battle, and had gained respect from every part of Wizarding Britain for the way he had handled the fallout from the war.</p><p>Kingsley talked for a few minutes about the battle, and the war, and the year of healing. He thanked some notable people for their services, and publicly pardoned a number of falsely accused individuals and families – Stan Shunpike among them.</p><p>Then it was Harry’s turn. He gulped and stumbled onto the dias, Ron and Hermione beside him, and opened his mouth; nothing happened. Hermione took his hand; Ron wrapped an arm around his shoulders; he straightened up and began to speak.</p><p>He talked about the prophecy which foretold his success; he talked about Draco and Narcissa Malfoy, and Severus Snape, and Albus Dumbledore. He talked about trust, and unity; he talked about almost being sorted into Slytherin, and the house values, and the Triwizard Tournament and Cedric Diggory. He talked with hope about the future, and about family, and about his surrogate family and the parents and godparent he lost. Amos sobbed loudly in the third row; Molly mopped her eyes.</p><p>And then he squeezed Hermione’s hand and let go, shrugged off Ron’s arm, and turned, holding his hand out to Ginny. She frowned but stepped onto the dias, and held tightly to him as he talked about loss, and love, and Remus and Tonks, and not wasting time. Andromeda’s eyes shone with tears as she bounced an aqua-haired Teddy on her knee.</p><p>Hermione glanced back to see Minerva’s eyes filled with tears behind her. She was staring over at Professor Dumbledore’s tomb.</p><p>She visibly shook herself, eyes as green as her robes blinking to clear her thoughts, when Harry introduced the Headmistress of Hogwarts and invited her onto the dias. He stepped off himself, Ginny still clinging to him, Ron close behind. Hermione smiled as she passed, and Minerva reached out to squeeze her hand, holding her still just before she made the stairs.</p><p>“Stay?” She requested. “Wait for me?”</p><p>Hermione opened her mouth, remembered the audience, and just nodded, stepping down. She gestured to the others to go on without her, wondering what Minerva could possibly want from her.</p><p>The sun crept an inch higher over the horizon and light burst over the trees, lighting up the castle and its marble additions in glittering gold. The crowd gasped as one as the full effect became clear.</p><p>Minerva unrolled a piece of parchment and cleared her throat.</p><p>“A poem by anonymous, for the anniversary of the battle,” she announced.</p><p>Hermione smiled, remembering an evening just a few months ago, during which Minerva had – as promised – dug out her childhood photo albums, filled with unmoving muggle pictures. She had flicked to the ones of her in her brownie uniform; in one she was carrying the wreath of poppies, and in another, standing on a dias, obviously half-way through reciting the McCrae poem. She had the same high cheekbones and dark hair, which was – to Hermione’s surprise – pulled back into a ponytail of riotous curls; and she had a proud posture, even then.</p><p>“Harmony,” Minerva started, and Hermione pulled herself back to the present to watch her favourite teacher do something she never thought she’d hear; recite a poem.</p><p>“The war is won, the foe destroyed.<br/>The sun rises now on a brave new world<br/>Of peace and of harmony, of trust and love<br/>And valuing those who are left to us.</p><p>“We have been fractured, we have been<br/>On opposing sides of a hard-fought war<br/>And all we have done and suffered and seen<br/>Has made us different than we were before.</p><p>“The war is won, the foe destroyed,<br/>But we have lost much while battling for good.<br/>We have buried friends and kin alike,<br/>We’re burned and broken and scarred from the fight.</p><p>“To those who now remain, the torch is passed.<br/>Look at these scars, and feel all our fears,<br/>Know that we need a future of amity to last<br/>Generations. Make peace with enemies of yesteryears.</p><p>“The war is won, the foe destroyed,<br/>And your eyes now rest on the damage done.<br/>Nobody wins a war. We have much to grieve<br/>And yet much to celebrate. We must believe</p><p>“That the best is yet to come.<br/>In harmony, may we move on.”</p><p>Hermione let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding, and there was a gentle sigh as the rest of the audience did the same.</p><p>Minerva’s voice was powerful, and gentle. She read the poem like it was a paragraph, not acknowledging the line breaks; it sounded like a reflection and a commandment. When she had finished, she bowed her head, and clasped her hands, and simply stood.</p><p>The sun sparkled off the windows, the marbled parts of the castle and the surface of the lake as people began to murmur, standing and moving off slowly around the grounds. Creatures were melting back into the trees; Hagrid and Grawp were both bawling into tablecloths at the back of the crowd. Today, Hogwarts was open to all.</p><p>Minerva tucked the parchment back into her robes and paced gracefully down off the dias.</p><p>“You read beautifully,” Hermione complimented.</p><p>“Thank you,” Minerva responded quietly, and Hermione noted with some amazement that her hands were shaking; she had clasped them in front of her. It shocked her to realise that Minerva McGonagall had been <em>nervous.</em></p><p>A few realisations and connections clunked through Hermione’s mind, including the reference to the passing of the torch.</p><p>“You wrote it,” she said excitedly. “You wrote that.”</p><p>Minerva rolled her eyes, trying to ignore the burning in her cheeks. “Yes. I knew you’d notice. That’s why I asked you to wait here. Couldn’t have you telling everyone.”</p><p>Hermione chuckled, and linked their arms, leaning in to her side. “You wouldn’t have said it was by <em>anonymous</em> if you’d wanted people to know, so I wouldn’t have told anyone. But why you’d want to hide it, I have no idea.” She shook her head, and looked up at the school. “Hard to believe we had the conversation about scars exactly a year ago, almost on this same spot,” she said, staring across the grounds.</p><p>“A whole year,” Minerva murmured. “That conversation gave me the idea to use the marble in the castle, and I wrote the poem the same day.”</p><p>Hermione shook her head, grinning. “I had no idea you were a poet, but it doesn’t surprise me in the slightest. For all your practical way of teaching and matter of fact words, I knew there was a romantic in there.”</p><p>The blush crept up Minerva’s neck. “I wouldn’t say a <em>poet </em>– that’s a bit far –“</p><p>Hermione rolled her eyes. “You wrote a poem, and read it – anonymously – to a crowd that loved it, and who are now wandering the grounds thinking about what it said. That will be published in the Daily Prophet tomorrow, I’d put money on it. I’m sure it’s not the first you’ve ever written, is it? I bet you’ve been writing since you read on Remembrance Day as a brownie and realised you liked it. You’re a poet.”</p><p>Minerva gaped for a moment, then closed her mouth, and – for the second time in a year – pulled her ex-student into a hug.</p><p>“Minerva?” Hermione’s muffled voice issued from under the older witch’s chin.</p><p>“Mhm,” she replied, not letting go.</p><p>“Can we please do this on days other than the battle or its anniversary?”</p><p>Minerva chuckled and let her go, appraising her, wondering how it could be that this young woman understood her better than most anyone ever had – perhaps even better than she understood herself. She had recognised the romantic she tried to hide, and she hadn’t laughed when she discovered the poem was Minerva’s own.</p><p>Hermione had stayed at the castle and helped with repairs, visiting The Burrow once a week. She’d let Ron down gently, and supported the Weasleys at Fred’s funeral, and regularly visited Andromeda and Teddy. She’d agonised over what to do about her parents, and she had talked about her experiences on the run with Harry and Ron, and she had listened as Minerva had told her about Hogwarts that year. She had grown up even more; she was full of a cheeky spark, and had regained her love of learning, but there was still a darkness that lingered within her, turning her mouth down at the corners when she thought no-one was looking.</p><p>“I expect we can manage that,” Minerva agreed. Hermione grinned broadly, still close from the hug, and – echoing last year – gently dragged a fingertip down the thin scar on Minerva’s face.</p><p>This time, she couldn’t help but close her eyes; she wondered how she had resisted last year.</p><p>Hermione chuckled and, on impulse, pressed her lips to Minerva’s cheek. “Thank you for letting me stay this year,” she whispered.</p><p>“It was hardly a chore,” Minerva croaked, and cleared her throat. <em>What was wrong with her? </em>“You were incredibly helpful with the rebuild.”</p><p>She set off walking, and they made it half-way round the lake – arm in arm, just like last year - before either of them spoke again.</p><p>“I’m sorry, I’m keeping you from your friends,” Minerva realised.</p><p>Hermione shrugged. “I have kept myself from them this year,” she said. “It was a conscious choice to take some time away from them, after the year we had and the way things ended with Ron. I am more than happy here with you.”</p><p>“What will you do, now the repairs are complete?” Minerva asked, trying to ignore the swooping feeling in her stomach that Hermione’s words somehow produced.</p><p>“Honestly, I have no idea,” Hermione chuckled. “But that’s quite refreshing, really.”</p><p>Minerva smiled, and said carefully, “I hope we will still see plenty of one another. I have come to appreciate your company rather a lot this last year.”</p><p>“And yet you never thought to mention that you write,” Hermione accused, laughing and squeezing their linked arms playfully. “Of course, I’d love to see you. Honestly, I’d stay here, if I could. It’s the one place that still feels like home.”</p><p>Minerva stared down at the young woman she was becoming fonder of by the day. “You could,” she offered softly. “You could stay, and study for your NEWTs, and choose a mastery subject. If you wanted.”</p><p>Hermione stared at her. “I- I could?”</p><p>“If you wanted, yes, you could. But think about it, before you make any decisions. Decide whether you want to keep studying, or whether you want to travel, or find yourself a job and a family. There is no rush.”</p><p>Hermione threw her arms around Minerva and squeezed. “Thank you,” she whispered. When she drew back, there were tears shining in her eyes. “Even if I don’t, though, I still need to see my friend as often as she’s free,” she said firmly.</p><p>Minerva took a moment to realise that <em>she</em> was the friend to whom Hermione was referring, and another to realise that she was right – the young witch was the closest friend she had now after this year, and if she wasn’t mistaken, she was Hermione’s too.</p><p>“Of course,” she breathed, and – just like last year – pressed her lips to Hermione’s forehead. “Always. I need to see mine, too.”</p><p>The sun finally rose fully above the trees and drenched them in sunlight. Hermione looked up at her, meeting her eyes, a look of wonder in them.</p><p>“A year ago, you were Professor McGonagall, my favourite teacher and someone I respected a hell of a lot. And now, you’re Minerva, and the headmistress, and you’re a poet, and you’re my closest friend, and I’ve learned so much about you and your family and your life away from here. We might not have had that opportunity without the war… it’s one of the good things that have come out of it. These relationships we’re building.”</p><p>“It is,” Minerva murmured, eyes still fixed on Hermione’s, mesmerised by her words. <em>She had the mind of a poet</em>, Minerva thought; <em>she saw the world in the right way to write about it. Perhaps we could try that one day</em>. “A year ago, you were Miss Granger. Brilliant student, but all the same a student. A Gryffindor. And, newly, a war hero. I worried about you while you were missing, but you were still Miss Granger. And now you’re Hermione, and you’re the one person in the world who knows I write, and yours is the company I most enjoy. I’d certainly say that the war has had its upsides.”</p><p>Hermione gazed at her, enthralled. “I think we have a long way left to go,” she whispered.</p><p>“That we do,” Minerva agreed, squeezing Hermione’s hands and wondering when she had ended up holding them. “That we do.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Minerva kept her word; the next time she hugged Hermione was not, in fact, another year later.</p>
<p>Hermione spent the day of the dawn service on Hogwarts grounds, and then gathered her possessions back into her beaded bag and left with the rest of the Wizarding population. She took a room in the Leaky Cauldron and spent a sleepless night missing the magic of the castle; for she could <em>feel</em> it, now, after a year of being so closely intertwined with the wards during the repairs. The castle’s magic was a tangible force, an almost-visible blur in her periphery, a constant pressure complimenting her own magic.</p>
<p>She could understand, now, how Dumbledore had found the magical entrance to the cave, and the hidden chain of the boat, the way Harry had described. Once you’d felt it, it was hard to understand how anyone could miss it.</p>
<p>She walked to King’s Cross the next morning and watched all the students departing. As normal, the train left at exactly eleven o’clock. The difference was that this year, they were going to summer schools, to determine which year of study they needed to start September in.</p>
<p>After the Hogwarts Express had left the station, gleaming scarlet, filled with the excited chatter of teenagers who were finally getting the chance at normal life again, Hermione remained on the platform. Her Transfiguration was holding; no-one had recognised her with dark brown, straight hair and darkened skin. Parents lingered, catching up with one another, reflecting on the dawn service of the day before.</p>
<p>Hermione shook the Daily Prophet open and smirked. As she had predicted, Minerva’s poem was printed on the front page.</p>
<p>She wished she could run to her and wave it in her face, just as she would have any other day over the last year.</p>
<p>And so began a week of tentative searching. Hermione was looking for her place in the world. She walked up and down Diagon Alley, wondering if any of the shops would hold her interest; she doubted it, other than perhaps Flourish and Blotts, but even so, she’d rather be reading or writing the books than selling them.</p>
<p>She turned to the Ministry. She pored over the jobs in the back of the Prophet, knowing that she could probably speak to Kingsley and request any job in any department, but still, none of them held any kind of draw.</p>
<p>Teaching… she considered that. She had a feeling that mentoring, though, would be more her bag; having one-to-one sessions with students and developing them individually, rather than having to control a whole class. And then there was the subject – for how could she possibly pick a single one?</p>
<p>She thought about her parents, and their dentistry jobs, and looked into Healing. She rather thought she’d enjoy it – but only when the outcome was a good one. The problem was, though – and the Hermione who had survived the war was much more willing to admit it than the Hermione who had entered it – she was somewhat of a perfectionist. If she lost a patient… well, she knew she’d blame herself. And that couldn’t be healthy.</p>
<p>Finally, she dropped in to see George, who seemed rather more cheerful than he had at the dawn service. He chatted to her about his renewed plans to open a branch of WWW in Hogsmeade, and how much fun he was having designing new pranks and jokes, and how the hilarity of it all kept Fred’s memory alive and kept George himself smiling. He’d devised himself an ear out of a coiled Extendible Ear, which was both somewhat ingenuous and a little disturbing; it uncurled every so often to stretch closer to the source of the noise, if it wasn’t loud enough. Hermione was fascinated by it.</p>
<p>Finally, George advised her to find something she would love. “It doesn’t matter what it is, Hermione, as long as you’re going to enjoy it. Because if you’re happy in your work, then everything else seems so much brighter.”</p>
<p>And Hermione – still at a loss – just smiled at him. “Thanks,” she sighed. “Now I just have to figure out what that is.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>Minerva missed Hermione dearly, even once the students returned.</p>
<p>The castle being abuzz with noise again, and the Great Hall being full at mealtimes, was so welcome after a year of near-silence and a year of the Carrows’ reign. Minerva even enjoyed returning to night-time patrols, and found that she had missed teaching immensely. The shortened summer school syllabus was just ten weeks long and she was already writing the exams which would decide which students would return to which year groups the following year; of course, the first years would be a double year group this time, after the year of repairs. She was praying none of the older students needed to return to first year - but those who attended under the Carrows just might. A triple year, then. What a headache.</p>
<p>And yet, despite the castle being fuller and happier than it had for two years, Minerva felt it was as good as empty without Hermione in it.</p>
<p>Her magical signature was dotted around the school, marking areas that she had repaired or improved, and every time Minerva walked by it, it felt like an assault on her senses; that cinnamon and honey smell, the warmth.</p>
<p>Merlin, how she missed her.</p>
<p>“What’s got your wand in a knot?” Pomona Sprout asked bluntly at the third evening feast since the students returned.</p>
<p>“Nothing,” Minerva answered, raising an eyebrow. “Why?”</p>
<p>“Because you’re quiet and stern just like you were before the war. And there was me expecting that your once-rare smiles had become less so this last year because Voldemort’s dead. Now it seems it’s because you weren’t teaching,” Pomona mused.</p>
<p>“You know that’s not true,” Minerva bit back, annoyed.</p>
<p>“I do,” Pomona agreed, a glint in her eye. “And yet you’re more despondent, and eating less, since the dawn service than you’ve been all year. If it’s not the students returning, then what could it be?”</p>
<p>Minerva rolled her eyes. “Clearly you have an answer to that, Pomona, although I can’t imagine what rubbish you’ve come up with.”</p>
<p>“Hermione Granger has left the school.”</p>
<p>Minerva blinked. <em>Was she so transparent?</em></p>
<p>“Thought so,” Professor Sprout chuckled, hiding her mouth behind a soil-stained hand. Then she turned a more serious gaze on the new headmistress. “If she means that much to you, Minerva, tell her. We’ve been through a war. We’ve lost so many. If that hasn’t taught us to seize life with both hands, what will?”</p>
<p>“She knows,” Minerva answered shortly. “Not that it is any of your business.”</p>
<p>Pomona sighed. “She knows as much as you do, perhaps. That is but the leaf of the mandrake. But I suspect you will work that out in your own time; don’t dally, now.”</p>
<p>And with that mysterious sentiment, she stood and strode away, leaving a baffled Minerva in her wake.</p>
<hr/>
<p>In the early hours of the morning, Hermione – still tossing and turning – sat bolt upright.</p>
<p>“I have to go back,” she announced.</p>
<p>“Not with bed hair that impressive, dear,” her mirror yawned. “Best wait til morning, I’d say.”</p>
<p>Hermione snorted and ran her hand through bushy locks. “You’re not wrong,” she murmured.</p>
<p>She couldn’t believe it had taken her so long.</p>
<p>Her passion for the rights of magical creatures wouldn’t last long in the ministry, where laws and change took months, votes, drafts and redrafts to pass. Her interest in medicine wouldn’t survive beyond her first death. Her desire to mentor would hardly withstand rowdy classes at Hogwarts, and she certainly wouldn’t go abroad to find the same. There was no way she’d carry on living a war and join Auror training; she couldn’t work in a shop passionately, like Ron was doing with George; and Quidditch like Harry was an absolute no-go.</p>
<p>What did she love most of all, though?</p>
<p>Learning.</p>
<p>
  <em>“You could stay, and study for your NEWTs, and choose a mastery subject. If you wanted.”</em>
</p>
<p>The voice whispered through her mind and Hermione’s chest ached. Merlin, how she missed her gentle laugh, her elegance, her intelligence. How she missed that Scottish accent that she’d heard more of this last year than ever; that gentle blush she’d become accustomed to; the stories they swapped over pots of tea. The smell of ginger and peppermint that seemed to cling to her.</p>
<p>She thought she wanted to go out into the world, and move on. She thought she felt too old for classes, after everything she’d lived through; she couldn’t imagine a return to a timetable, or studying and sitting her NEWTS with Ginny.</p>
<p>But she wanted Hogwarts, and she wanted Minerva, and she wanted to study and research and write essays – perhaps even textbooks. She never wanted to <em>stop</em> learning. It seemed so obvious to her now, and in her excitement, she threw herself out of her rented bed and began haphazardly packing the Muggle way.</p>
<p>And so she arrived, breathless, at the school gates just eight days after she’d left, before breakfast on a weekend, beaded bag clutched in her hand, hair barely controlled. It was hot, even for May; she gently touched the gates to announce herself, and then shrugged off her cardigan. The magic of the castle was palpable even outside the gates, and the signature caressed her own, fitting like a puzzle piece; tears sprang to Hermione’s eyes. She was home.</p>
<p>A silver tabby streaked to a stop only minutes after Hermione, and morphed into the headmistress as the gates swung soundlessly inwards. Minerva, dressed for the day but evidently only half-way through fashioning her familiar bun, shot through them and pulled Hermione into a tight hug before she could say a word – and inexplicably, Hermione felt tears pooling in her eyes.</p>
<p>“I missed you,” Minerva murmured into her hair, and Hermione was – yet again – surprised at the proud woman’s voluntary vulnerability.</p>
<p>“Missed you too,” she choked, clinging on fiercely, arms wrapped around the older witch’s back. The loose ebony tresses at the bottom of the thick plait tickled her bare shoulders and arms. “Can I please come back?”</p>
<hr/>
<p>With Minerva’s tenure as Headmistress, the circular office - which had once housed tables piled with spindly instruments that whistled and steamed and clicked - now held a small seating area to the right of the door. It was here that they had settled, each curled onto squashy armchairs and cradling cups of tea, simply smiling at one another. Minerva was absent-mindedly fiddling with the ends of her plait.</p>
<p>“It looks beautiful, I had no idea it was so long,” Hermione complimented. Minerva, who had accompanied her guest up to the school in her cat form so as not to be seen by any staff or students in such disarray, blushed prettily.</p>
<p>“Thank you,” she replied self-consciously, letting go of the lock she was twisting. “I have a habit of playing with it when I’m nervous, so I’ve always kept it up for teaching. Plus it regains its usual curls very quickly with too much fiddling.”</p>
<p>“I’d love to see it properly curly,” Hermione said wistfully. “And I’d never have believed that teaching made you nervous, either,” she added, considering the lessons the venerable witch had taught her.</p>
<p>Minerva chuckled and, before she could second-guess herself, tugged at the tie at the bottom of the plait, loosening it. She shook her dark hair over her shoulders and down to her lower back in thick waves. Hermione gaped at her; her hand crept back to a strand near the front and twisted it around her fingers.</p>
<p>“Merlin,” Hermione whispered. “It’s – you’re beautiful.” She blinked, and shook herself. <em>What was wrong with her?</em></p>
<p>Minerva’s fingers twisted faster. Hermione leaned forward to put her tea down, and reached out slowly.</p>
<p>“Do I make you nervous?” She murmured, cool, smooth skin making contact with Minerva’s warm hand and stopping its fevered dance.</p>
<p>Minerva swallowed. “Immeasurably,” she whispered. “I’m rather hoping you will stay, and yet I worry that you will not. And this is the first time a soul has seen my hair entirely loose for decades.”</p>
<p>Hermione bit her lip and smiled. “I would like to stay,” she replied, squeezing the hand she was holding. “Especially if the great Minerva McGonagall is willing to keep sharing her secrets with me.” She shifted their joined hands over slightly, just grazing Minerva’s cheekbone, and brushing down the pearly scar.</p>
<p>Minerva’s eyes drifted closed and her cheeks ached with a sudden, wide smile. <em>Hermione was coming home.</em></p>
<p><em>Home?</em> She mentally shook herself and cleared her throat, eyes opening. She dropped her grip on Hermione’s hand, reaching for her wand and hurriedly returning her hair to its plait. She avoided the younger witch’s gaze as she twisted the plait into her customary tight bun.</p>
<p>“I would love to have you back, Hermione,” she said genuinely once her last conjured pin was stuck carefully into place. “However, I assume you have considered alternatives and ascertained that this is definitely what you want?”</p>
<p>Hermione was somewhat disappointed with the formal turn the conversation had taken, although she couldn’t exactly pinpoint <em>why</em>; she and Minerva had had plenty of formal discussions alongside their personal ones during the rebuild.</p>
<p>She pushed the feeling aside and nodded. “I have,” she confirmed, leaning back into her chair and reaching for her discarded cup. “I cannot think of anything I’d rather do than continue learning – NEWTs and beyond. I never want to stop, and none of the careers I considered held the same level of excitement. But I also can’t see myself back in the classroom, learning a timetabled schedule.”</p>
<p>Minerva grinned and the formal atmosphere evaporated. “I expected that,” she laughed.</p>
<p>Hermione stared at her. “You did?” She asked, shocked. “I only worked it out overnight. You’d have had me at the gates at two in the morning if my mirror hadn’t told me how dreadful I looked.”</p>
<p>The headmistress snorted. “I’m sure you did not look dreadful, dear. I think the closest you’ve come to that was precisely one year and eight days ago, and I still took you for a stroll around the lake.” She raised an eyebrow as Hermione choked.</p>
<p>“I- I… have no idea what to say to that,” she coughed, realising the truth of the statement only as she verbalised it. Her stomach was fluttering; she wondered absently how inhaling tea could cause such a feeling.</p>
<p>Minerva laughed. “That’s a first,” she teased lightly, and Hermione’s already-pink cheeks reddened. “I’m just pleased that I won my private bet on your decision for your future,” she added, patting Hermione’s hand and steadfastly ignoring the voice in her head telling her that Pomona may have had a point - she had smiled and laughed more in the last two hours since Hogwarts had alerted her to Hermione's honey and cinnamon signature than she had in the last week.</p>
<p>The younger witch opened her mouth, closed it again, and shook her head. “May I take that to mean you have a solution?”</p>
<p>“Of course, lass. Of course.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I assume that your wish to return to academia is indefinite, not just for your NEWTs?” Minerva asked, reaching for her tea, which she had abandoned in favour of loosening her hair. She still wasn’t sure what had possessed her.</p><p>Hermione cleared her throat. “You really do know me far too well,” she sighed. “I believe so, although I am not fully aware of exactly what I can achieve in terms of a career by continuing to learn.”</p><p>Minerva raised an eyebrow. “That depends entirely on how you want your future to look,” she replied. “If you wish to attend one of the Universities of Magic to study two or three subjects at a higher level, or ultimately become a lecturer and researcher, then you can do little here beyond your NEWTs. If you wish to specialise in a singular subject and become an expert in it, you would need to possibly complete a degree, and then find a Master of that subject – again, there would be little here for you beyond your NEWTs.”</p><p>Hermione frowned. “Neither appeal,” she admitted. “Beyond the obvious acquiring of knowledge, of course.”</p><p>“Aye, and both cost,” Minerva agreed. “Although I am sure you would achieve at least one academic scholarship, that still leaves living costs.”</p><p>The younger witch sighed. “Your solution would be great right about now,” she mumbled.</p><p>“Patience,” Minerva said with her usual classroom sternness. Hermione subconsciously sat up straighter and the Headmistress laughed. “I assume that your eagerness to learn remains strong in all areas but Divination?”</p><p>Hermione blushed to the roots of her hair, but nodded.</p><p>“That is no bad thing, my dear,” Minerva said gently, placing her empty cup back on its saucer and patting Hermione’s hands, which were twisting in her lap. “I also assume that you would prefer to self-study your NEWTs, with staff support, as opposed to attending lessons?”</p><p>Hermione nodded again. “I love having lessons, and I love the staff here, but after everything… I just don’t think I want to go <em>back</em> to that. Like the last two years haven’t happened.” She turned her hands over to grip Minerva’s tightly.</p><p>Minerva squeezed the soft, warm hands under her own, privately marvelling at how small they were despite their owner having grown so much – physically and mentally.  “Then I believe my solution will be ideal,” she announced. “I believe there will be a number of students on the cusp, after this summer school, of moving up or down a year. We are also going to have at least twice as many first years as normal. I believe there are going to be many students who will require some input from Poppy with regards their mental and emotional wellbeing, and also some who will require some input from other staff regarding their academic progression.”</p><p>Hermione sighed. “You’re not wrong,” she admitted. “I worry about how they have managed over the last year. Where some of them went, since their immediate families were killed. How Dennis Creevey is managing without Colin.”</p><p>“Precisely,” Minerva agreed. “We are going to have to be more than a school to the students this year.”</p><p>“Hogwarts has always been more than a school,” Hermione pointed out. “Hogwarts is more of a home to most of us than our homes are.” She thought about Harry, and her parents, and her heart clenched.</p><p>Minerva smiled at the young witch. “I’m glad it feels that way,” she said, her voice softer than Hermione had ever heard it. “I felt the same, when I was a student here.” She cleared her throat. “What I was trying to say, Hermione, was that I believe we would benefit from having someone to mentor the students. We are going to be stretched, teaching twice as many first-year classes and keeping an eye on our older students. Answering all the questions they have, settling them back into a routine, and ensuring everyone is mentally well – including ourselves… it’s going to be a challenging year. This was the site of a battle in which many of these students lost family, friends, teachers; coming back in itself will be hard on many. Some of the students are related to those on Voldemort’s side. We need to unify houses. We need to be more than teachers.”</p><p>Hermione had been watching the passionate monologue, the spark in Minerva’s eye. She smiled wryly. “You were always more than a teacher, Minerva.”</p><p>Momentarily distracted, Minerva drew a breath and choked a little on it. Hermione’s words settled comfortably and warmly somewhere in her chest, and she swallowed a lump in her throat.</p><p>“Thank you,” she croaked.</p><p>Hermione hesitated. “You are the reason I considered teaching,” she admitted. “Harry is a natural with the practical elements, and watching him in fifth year was something else, but people listened to him because of who he is – and <em>then</em> he was able to be brilliant. I would love to be able to teach the way you do, though.”</p><p>Minerva blinked away the blurriness in her vision. “I believe you could,” she offered. “But I also believe that you would prefer to teach smaller groups more subjects than teach a whole class one area of magic.”</p><p>“Are you in my head?” Hermione demanded, laughing. “Perhaps I should have taken Occlumency lessons too.”</p><p>“Legilimency is one skill I never mastered,” Minerva answered seriously. “I just know you, Hermione.”</p><p>“Well, you’re right. I considered teaching, and decided that I’d prefer to mentor. I considered Healing and realised I wouldn’t get past my first death. I considered Flourish and Blotts and decided I’d prefer to write the books than sell them. I considered the Ministry and decided it moved too slowly. I don’t want to drop any subjects, I want to study them all. I want to study the gaps in between them, and bridge them. I want to translate the theory of one across to another, I want to create new disciplines and discover new things, I want to instil this love of learning in others. I want to share everything I find out.”</p><p>She stopped and took a deep breath. Minerva was smiling at her.</p><p>“I know,” she said simply.</p><p>Hermione shook her head. “Go on then, you infuriating woman,” she laughed. “Tell me what you’ve come up with, while I was figuring out what you already knew.”</p><p>Minerva’s smile widened and she squeezed Hermione’s hands again, wondering why she hadn’t just let them go. “I suggest that we set you up your own quarters here. You self-study your NEWTs, and research whatever you want to research, and write whatever you want to write. You can choose a mastery subject under almost any of the staff here; the new Transfiguration Professor won’t be able to take on a student for a few years yet, but I can. Care of Magical Creatures doesn’t have a mastery-approved teacher, and neither does Divination, although I doubt those would be your top choices. Other than that, you could choose any subject to pursue a Mastery in – including Healing, incidentally.”</p><p>Hermione stared. “What, just… stay? Indefinitely?”</p><p>Minerva chuckled. “And in return, you mentor the students who are struggling academically. You have one-to-one sessions with some, and run clubs for each subject for the others. You teach, in a way, to earn your place at the staff table. The pay would be minimal, since your workload should be light, but your real reward would be in the resources here.”</p><p>“Minerva, I wouldn’t want paying! I’d have a room, and food, and everything I could ever want to learn and study… and the chance to mentor. I wouldn’t need a wage. It’s perfect!”</p><p>And Hermione burst into tears. Minerva – somewhat bemused – tugged her into their second hug of the day, and held her gently as she sobbed, hushing her.</p><hr/><p>Much later in the day, Hermione was sitting at her new desk in her new rooms, finishing a letter to George. It was rushed; her handwriting was nowhere neat as usual, and there were shining blobs of ink in random places where she’d pressed too hard. She couldn’t help it; she was abuzz with excitement, and with the magic of Hogwarts pressing firmly against her own.</p><p>A light knock announced her visitor just as she laid down her quill, and the door swung open to admit Minerva.</p><p>“I can come back,” she said immediately, seeing Hermione’s unrolled parchment.</p><p>“No, I’m finished,” Hermione hurried to reassure her. “It just needs to dry, I got a bit overexcited.” She stood and made her way to her own squashy sofa, curling into one end and patting the other. “I haven’t stopped smiling all day, my cheeks are killing me.”</p><p>Minerva laughed, and Hermione reflected again that she wanted to hear that sound more often, see Minerva with her head thrown elegantly back, eyes creased with mirth. She was a vision.</p><p>She was also looking expectantly at her.</p><p>“I’m- I’m sorry?” Hermione said blankly. <em>What was wrong with her?</em></p><p>“I assume you haven’t changed your mind,” Minerva repeated.</p><p>“N-no,” she stuttered before she found her feet in the conversation again and gained some conviction. “No, I couldn’t. This is perfect.” She glanced around at her living space, with its seating and coffee table, and her desk, and the door behind which her four-poster was hiding. “It’s wonderful.”</p><p>Minerva smiled at the obvious joy in Hermione’s words. “You are welcome to decorate it however you would like, whether by purchasing items to fill it with or by transfiguring what is already here.”</p><p>Hermione hugged herself and grinned. “I can’t wait.”</p><p>“Then I suppose I should share this with you.” Minerva held out her hand and a roll of parchment appeared in it. She raised an eyebrow. “If you feel up to it, that is. You did have an early start, after all.”</p><p>Hermione snorted. “So did you,” she countered. “You had an early-morning sprint, if I remember rightly.”</p><p>Minerva coloured at the memory of how she’d thrown herself into Hermione’s arms that morning and cleared her throat delicately. “Indeed,” she agreed. “And yet I find myself refreshed for it. You, on the other hand, look like you have been sleeping on a lumpy Leaky Cauldron bed for a week.”</p><p>“I have,” Hermione retorted. “But I’m fine.”</p><p>Minerva smirked and handed over the parchment roll, sinking into the cushions at the other end of the sofa. Hermione unrolled it carefully.</p><p>“You already have a contract?” She asked incredulously.</p><p>“I told you I was expecting you,” Minerva said cheekily. “I had it approved by the staff and governors two days ago.”</p><p>Hermione ran her eyes over the contract, which set out a modest but perfectly liveable salary, and stipulated that the castle and its contents would be at her disposal all year round; she would be expected to mentor in all subjects for which she earned a NEWT, up to but not exceeding the same number of hours in a normal teaching timetable; and she would be expected to prove personal development at an annual appraisal. Her mentoring duties started in September, so she would be required to sit her NEWTs during the summer.</p><p>“Minerva, this is very generous,” she started, and Minerva held up her hand.</p><p>“I am not negotiating down with you,” Minerva said flatly. “The governors and the staff have agreed a ceiling. That is not the ceiling.”</p><p>Hermione closed her mouth. “Thank you,” she said softly.</p><p>“You’re welcome,” Minerva replied gently. “I… I am looking forward to you being here. I missed you last week.”</p><p>“Me too,” Hermione said shyly. “A lot.”</p><p>Minerva cleared her throat to distract herself from the bubbly, fizzy feeling in her stomach, and glanced down at the contract. “The Ministry are organising OWLs and NEWTs for the end of the summer school,” she informed Hermione. “That’s the last week of July. It will allow students to sit some or all of them and then choose whether or not to return in September to study for the rest, or resit those they were unhappy with.”</p><p>Hermione nodded slowly. “So I have eight weeks to learn the NEWT syllabus, and study it, for the exams,” she calculated, trying very hard to swallow down her panic.</p><p>“And I have no doubt that you were studying the NEWT syllabus before you left Hogwarts, and have been since,” Minerva soothed. “You will do wonderfully – and if you are unhappy with a grade, you may re-sit it next year with Miss Weasley’s cohort.”</p><p>Hermione bit her lip, but squared her shoulders. “So that gives me August?”</p><p>“August, yes. The staff will be preparing for the school year, with a more concrete idea of their class sizes. I will be extending dormitories. You may begin research, or Mastery studies, or preparation for your mentoring, or all of the above.”</p><p>“Where will the mentoring take place?”</p><p>Minerva smiled. “I will extend your quarters to include a classroom for mentoring, with the appropriate contents to allow both practical and theoretical studies for multiple group sizes. It will have its own door onto the corridor so students can enter directly. I will also add a warded room for your own research, and I’m sure Hogwarts can be persuaded to allow you a shortcut to the library.”</p><p>Hermione’s mouth fell open. Minerva chuckled and leaned forward, closing it with a gentle finger under Hermione’s chin.</p><p>Hermione shivered at the touch, leaning against Minerva’s hand until it slid up her cheek, and looked up at her. There was still a warm smile creasing her eyes, and she was wearing a soft expression. Her eyes, greener than ever in the sunset spilling through the window, were on Hermione’s, and Hermione – now she knew that the older witch’s hair was naturally curly – could see the tiny flyaway strands of ebony at Minerva’s hairline.</p><p>“<em>Accio quill,”</em> Hermione murmured, not taking her eyes off Minerva’s.</p><p>Minerva’s thumb, which had been brushing her cheekbone, faltered. She pulled her hand away and swallowed, mesmerised by the look in Hermione’s eyes. They were brighter than usual, like someone had lit a fire behind them, and Minerva desperately wanted to be the one stoking the flames. <em>What was wrong with her?</em></p><p>Hermione finally looked away, and unrolled the contract once more. She scanned it again, and used the self-inking quill to neatly sign the space at the bottom. Minerva took it from her wordlessly and signed in her place.</p><p>A warm, tingling feeling rushed through Hermione and settled, snitch-sized, beside her heart.</p><p>“Oh,” she breathed, rubbing it.</p><p>“Magical contracts manifest physically,” Minerva told her gently. “Does it hurt?”</p><p>“No, it’s just… just <em>there.</em>”</p><p>“As it should be. Just as you are <em>here.</em> Hogwarts is marking you as her own, for now.”</p><p>Hermione smiled. “Perfect. There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The snitch-sized lump of warmth fizzed gently and contentedly in Hermione’s chest while she studied, and between its quiet optimism and the regular contact she had with Minerva, she was hard-pressed to wipe the wide smile from her face. She was revising harder than she ever had, trying to fit a school year of subjects into just eight weeks, but nothing could flatten her mood. Hogwarts seemed to be helping her along; she hadn’t had a staircase take her to the wrong place, or a shortcut move, since she returned to the castle.</p><p>Ginny caught her arm in the library one day in her first week. “Hermione! George owled me, why didn’t you say you were here?” She asked excitedly.</p><p>Hermione blushed and lowered her voice. “I’m not coming back in September,” she said. “So I’m not in classes.”</p><p>“I noticed! What’s going on?”</p><p>“I’m taking my NEWTs at the end of the summer school.”</p><p>Ginny bounced eagerly on the balls of her feet. “Harry’s taking some too!” She told Hermione. “Ron isn’t, of course. He’s just in the shop with George, and Lee. Not sure he’s going to be quite as effective as Fred, but… anyway. Harry is studying at home!”</p><p>Hermione smiled. “I’ll owl him,” she decided. “It will be good to see him.”</p><p>“Where are you staying, why aren’t you in the dorms or at meals?” Ginny asked.</p><p>Hermione explained about her mentoring role, and her rooms, and taking dinner there. “I didn’t want to sit on the Gryffindor table and have to try to explain why I’m doing my NEWTs so quickly and that I already have a job. Minerva organised for my meals to come to my rooms.”</p><p>“<em>Minerva?</em>” Ginny repeated incredulously. “Since when were you on first name terms?”</p><p>“Since I helped rebuild the castle,” Hermione responded tetchily. “We did spend the best part of a year together.”</p><p>Ginny bit her lip. “We missed you at the Burrow,” she said quietly. “Ron especially.”</p><p>Hermione sighed. “I know, but it was the best thing for me, and in the long run I believe the best thing for him too.”</p><p>“I know you’re right, but it wasn’t easy.”</p><p>Hermione smiled sadly. “It was for the best,” she repeated. “It's not like I didn't see you at all. Now, I have to get these books back to my rooms. Catch you at the weekend?”</p><p>Ginny hugged her tightly, and turned away. Her hair was a darker shade of red than it had ever been, giving her an older look. Hermione wondered what NEWTs she would take and where she’d be heading to in a year’s time. Whether she would be one of the people Hermione ended up mentoring, and how she’d cope with schooling after the last year.</p><hr/><p>The weeks rushed by. Hermione’s days were a frenzy of studying interspersed with the odd quieter tea with Minerva – welcome breaks among the heavy workload. Their conversation was light, full of academic discussions as well as gentle banter, and after every such meeting, Hermione felt infinitely more relaxed.</p><p>George wrote to her at least once a week, teasing her lightly for doing the exact opposite of what he and Fred had chosen, and occasionally lamenting Ron’s lack of imagination in the shop. Hermione responded with compliments on the twins’ abilities despite their lack of academic interest, and assured George that Ron was better at magic than he believed, and he would improve.</p><p>Andromeda also kept in contact, sending Hermione photographs of Teddy. She had taken to writing the dates on the back of each, since the tot had inherited his mother's abilities and changed the length and colour of his hair a few times a day.</p><p>Harry arrived a week before the exams. Hermione felt his arrival at the gates and dropped her quill in her still-wet notes, flying through the corridors to meet him.</p><p>“Miss Granger, please do be careful!” Professor Flitwick squeaked as she passed him in a blur, tripping down half of a staircase and jumping the bottom half to land, cat-like, on the stone floor.</p><p>“Yes, Professor!” She yelled over her shoulder.</p><p>She slammed into Harry halfway across the grounds and buried her face in his shoulder; he was laughing breathlessly.</p><p>“How did you know I was here?” He asked finally, still holding her tightly.</p><p>“The wards,” Hermione replied. “I’ll explain later. How are you?”</p><p>Harry smiled down at her. He’d grown since the battle – as if Voldemort’s presence, the weight of the wizarding world, had bowed his shoulders and held him at the same height until it was all over. Now she only came up to his chin. He was tanned, from time spent outside, and muscled from the new fitness programme he had to follow.</p><p>“Good. Nervous, but good,” he said.</p><p>“You look well. Professional Quidditch suits you,” she told him, stepping back to look at him, taking in his broad shoulders.</p><p>“I love it,” Harry enthused. “It’s perfect – the whole team treat me like one of the team, nothing about the war or anything. It’s exactly what I needed.”</p><p>Hermione grinned at him. “And yet here you are, doing your NEWTs. Why?” She reached absently for his glasses, pulling them off his face, and drew her wand.</p><p>Harry shrugged, blushing slightly. “I want to prove that I can, I suppose. And Quidditch is a young person’s game. Soon enough I’ll have to get a real job.”</p><p>Hermione finished tapping Harry’s glasses. She’d taken to updating his prescription, since the Dursleys hadn’t, because Harry used to get terrible headaches. Madam Pomfrey had taught her the spell. This time, she added the same water repelling charm as she once did during the Hufflepuff match, and another few spells that allowed the lenses to darken in bright sunlight, stopped them from scratching, reduced glare, and made the glass and the frames unbreakable. She handed them back to him absent-mindedly and he stared at the lenses, which had already darkened in the morning sunlight. He put them on.</p><p>“Wow, Hermione, that’s loads better!”</p><p>She linked her arm with his. “So, what sort of ‘real job’?” She asked.</p><p>“No idea,” he groaned. “I’m just doing the base subject NEWTs. Transfiguration, Charms, Defence, Potions. At least then I have the foundations for most things.”</p><p>Hermione squeezed his arm with her own. “Sensible plan,” she commented. “When did you grow up so much?”</p><p>Harry smiled softly at her. “When I walked across these grounds, knowing I was going to die,” he murmured. “The last year has been so hard, but if I hadn’t done that, it would have been harder.” He glanced around the Entrance Hall as they stepped through the door, and his glasses cleared. He slid them down his nose and stared, awestruck, at them. “Thank you!”</p><p>Hermione hugged him once more and pushed him towards the stairs. “Go find Ginny,” she commanded. “Go, go. She’s missed you.”</p><p>And Harry’s eyes lit up. He hesitated, stooped to kiss Hermione on the cheek, and left her at the same sort of speed she had arrived at his side. She watched him go, seeing the young Harry Potter from the train almost eight years ago in her mind.</p><p>“Miss Granger, thank you for showing him in – but how on earth did you know he had arrived?”</p><p>Minerva swept across the Entrance Hall, watching him run up a staircase two floors up, and came to a halt at Hermione’s side.</p><p>“I felt his magical signature enter the wards, Professor,” Hermione replied formally, aware of how public their conversation was.</p><p>“You… you <em>felt…</em> how?”</p><p>Hermione frowned up at the Headmistress, and rubbed the fizzing in her chest. “I assume because of the contract?” She replied, framing it as a question. “And after the year we spent together, I would recognise Harry’s signature anywhere.”</p><p>Minerva frowned, and gestured for Hermione to follow her; they walked away from the portraits of the dead lining the walls, down the nearest corridor and into a classroom. Minerva closed the door behind her and flicked her fingers, producing a vague buzzing which melted away into the corridor; Hermione recognised the <em>Muffliato</em> spell Harry had found in Snape’s potions book.</p><p>“Hermione, recognising magical signatures is something that you learn, you don’t just <em>know</em>.”</p><p>“Yes, I know. I read up on it once we made the decision that we weren’t returning to Hogwarts. I assumed that while travelling, the spells we would use to conceal ourselves would be best cast with a magical signature disguised or, preferably, absent. I know both Harry’s and Ron’s because I worked to conceal them.”</p><p>Minerva stared at the young witch. “That’s… Hermione, that’s Mastery level magic in a subject this school doesn’t even teach.”</p><p>Hermione sighed. “I know,” she repeated. “We didn’t have much choice, it was war.”</p><p>Minerva reached for the hands that Hermione had subconsciously clenched into fists. Her shoulders had drawn up around her ears, but they gradually relaxed as Minerva’s long, cool fingers encased her own.</p><p>“As for the wards… you shouldn’t be in touch with the wards. Your contract doesn’t include that sort of clearance. Myself and my deputy – so Filius – should be the only two communicating with the wards.”</p><p>Hermione frowned. “Okay, well, I don’t have an answer for that,” she admitted. “Maybe because I was so involved in the repairs?”</p><p>Minerva thought about it. Hermione had indeed been more involved than almost anyone else with the repairs to the castle and to the wards – but the team was huge. If everyone who had helped with the rebuild could now feel and monitor the wards, they had a security issue.</p><p>“I… don’t think so,” she said slowly. “But we’ll have to look into it.”</p><p>“You read magical signatures too,” Hermione said, taking them both by surprise. “Did you study another Mastery as well as Transfiguration?”</p><p>Minerva blinked at her. “No, I fought in a war,” she replied humourlessly, despite the irony of the situation. “It continued to develop during my time here as a student. I joined the effort to stop Grindelwald as soon as I was of age.” She glanced at Hermione and smiled thinly. “How did you know?”</p><p>Hermione squeezed her hands. “You react to different parts of the castle. You slow down in places, speed up in others. You read who was where, like ghosts of past events.”</p><p>“That’s exactly what it’s like,” Minerva agreed. “I believe I am somewhat more aware of the signatures due to –“</p><p>“Due to your increased sense of smell, a side effect of your Animagus form,” Hermione finished. “That’s how Amortentia works, isn’t it? It tells you the magical signature of your love. It’s not just smells, it’s their base essence.”</p><p>Minerva smiled more genuinely. “Your mind is wonderful,” she murmured, eyes roving over Hermione’s face. “I had not made that connection, but I believe you are probably right.”</p><p>Hermione grinned. “Doubt it will come up on the Potions NEWT though,” she laughed self-deprecatingly.</p><p>“Perhaps not,” Minerva agreed with a chuckle. “It is certainly something you could research, though, once your exams are over.”</p><p>Hermione wondered whether she wanted to smell the potion again, now she knew what her theory was and what people’s magical signatures looked and smelled and tasted and sounded like. She wondered whether the potion would tell her that she didn’t know the person she would come to love yet, or whether she’d known them for years.</p><p>“Maybe,” she agreed, not meeting Minerva’s eyes.</p><p>“Would you be willing for me to do some tests on the wards? It might cause some strange sensations if you have indeed been absorbed into them, but nothing painful. Just let me know what you feel.”</p><p>Hermione shrugged and nodded. “Sure,” she agreed.</p><p>Minerva smiled gently at her, and they simply looked at one another for a long moment.</p><p>“I should go,” Hermione said softly, finally. “I have to keep studying.”</p><p>“Remind me how many NEWTs you are taking?”</p><p>Hermione laughed and shook her head, aiming a gentle slap at Minerva’s upper arm. It was a running joke; she asked Hermione eight weeks ago and the number was smaller, but since, it had grown. Now she asked her every time she saw her.</p><p>“You just don’t want me to outdo you!” She teased. “Didn’t you set the record?”</p><p>Minerva didn’t laugh. “I did, but I already know you will outdo me,” she said seriously. And then she smiled, and leaned down to press a kiss to Hermione’s temple. “Tea later?”</p><p>“I- yes, please,” Hermione replied, breathing out shakily. <em>What was wrong with her?  </em>The kiss - in a normal conversation, not an emotionally charged one - was a first.</p><p>“I’ll come to you after the feast,” Minerva said, and turned to leave, business-like as ever. Hermione barely caught the flick of her fingers that dissipated the <em>Muffliato</em>.</p><p><em>I need to learn that</em>, she thought<em>. Wandless, non-verbal. Awesome.</em></p><hr/><p>Neville caught Hermione that evening on her way back from the library, rounding the corner just in time to spot her before she disappeared out of sight the other end.</p><p>“Hey, Hermione,” he called, and she turned, smiling.</p><p>“Neville, you’ve been hiding well, I haven’t seen you at all so far.”</p><p>“You would if you’d come to meals,” he accused gently, coming to a stop in front of her.</p><p>“True,” she laughed. “Sorry. I wasn’t avoiding anyone in particular, I promise.”</p><p>She took a moment to take Neville in. He stood up straight now, with his shoulders back, the way he never used to; he was no longer round-faced, round-shouldered, or anxious. He looked confident.</p><p>“I wondered if I could get some advice,” he said. “About the exams.”</p><p>“Okay,” Hermione replied slowly, wondering whether Neville knew about her mentoring job, and whether he thought she’d already started, or whether this was just a him asking a friend for advice.</p><p>“I know I’m not the brightest, but the DA and the war really have taught me so much,” Neville said, gesturing for her to continue walking and falling into step beside her. “I’m coming back next year to work at the subjects I struggle with, but I thought if I take some exams this week, it will lighten the workload. I’ll be able to look for a job, and work harder at the ones I’m worst at, with my free time next year.”</p><p>“Sounds sensible,” Hermione agreed cautiously, wondering what Neville wanted from her.</p><p>“You were in the DA. I’m going to take Herbology this week, but I wondered what you thought about me taking Defence too.”</p><p>Hermione smiled. “Absolutely. The theory might not come so easily, but hopefully you’ve worked on that during these last weeks. Your practical Defence is more than ready.”</p><p>Neville grinned shyly at her. “Thanks,” he said softly. “And… and what about the other subjects?”</p><p>Hermione frowned, thinking. “Potions will come more easily with a different teacher this year, if you wanted to study it. Transfiguration… well, it sounds like you created a good rapport with Mi – with Professor McGonagall during your last year, so another year of studying that with a slightly less terrifying teacher will do you the world of good. You could always sit Charms this week, and re-sit it if you’re not happy with the grade, but your Charm work got much better during our OWL years. Divination I’d be tempted to sit and guess at, see what happens, but you know how I feel about the subject.” Hermione rolled her eyes here and Neville – confident, now, and no longer terrified of the future – laughed. “Care of Magical Creatures might be a good one for you to do now, as well,” Hermione finished thoughtfully. “You had a way with most of them – the animal equivalent of green fingers.”</p><p>Neville smiled at her. “You really think I could pass Creatures, Charms, Divination, Defence and Herbology this week?” he asked, awed.</p><p>“Yes,” Hermione replied with conviction. “Your problem isn’t skill, Neville, it’s confidence.”</p><p>Neville – somehow – straightened up even further. “Thank you,” he told her. “I’ll do those, then. I can always resit them if it doesn’t work out. And I might try potions next year, I’ve been doing the summer school work on it with Slughorn and it’s nowhere near as difficult as I remember it being… and you’re right about Professor McGonagall too. She was incredible while Snape was in charge.” Neville broke off and cleared his throat. “Right, I’m going to go and tell her now. Thank you.”</p><p>He made a convulsive movement, and stopped. Hermione laughed and pulled him into a hug.</p><p>“You’re a good man and a great wizard, Neville Longbottom,” she murmured. When he pulled back his face was scarlet.</p><p>“It’s good to see you,” he told her. “I’m glad you weren’t here to see the school with those bastards running it, but… I missed you.”</p><p>Hermione’s eyes began to itch and water. She swallowed and cuffed his shoulder. “I missed you too, you soppy lump, now go,” she laughed. He did.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hermione didn’t sleep well during exam week. In her dreams, she found herself in Malfoy Manor, writhing and screaming; she found herself holding her breath in nondescript forests as snatchers wandered by; she watched in the mirror as her features distorted into Bellatrix’s with the characteristic bubbling of Polyjuice. </p>
<p>In an odd sort of way, she felt less stressed about these exams than she ever had about schoolwork. She was tired from the nightmares, and it stopped her from staying up late to revise. She didn’t feel the need to go through every exam paper afterwards; she didn’t dwell on the last, but focused on the next. She wondered wryly if nightmares were good for her.</p>
<p>“You look tired.”</p>
<p>Hermione jumped and looked up from the Arithmancy notes spread across her desk. Minerva was leaning against the doorframe.</p>
<p>“How long have you been there?” She gasped, hand to her suddenly-thundering heart.</p>
<p>“Only a minute,” Minerva answered gently, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. “You needn’t revise so hard, Hermione, we both know you are going to pass these exams.”</p>
<p>“I’m not revising after nine,” she defended herself automatically. “And there’s only one more day. Two more exams.”</p>
<p>Minerva drew a chair in the air and sat on it as it landed beside Hermione’s. “Then why do you look so exhausted?”</p>
<p>Hermione shrugged. “Nightmares,” she admitted. “I get them sometimes. Perhaps it’s exam stress. They never last too long, though. Just bad timing this time.” </p>
<p>“You could ask Poppy for some dreamless sleep,” Minerva suggested. “She has increased her stocks by tenfold. We have a number of students and staff who require it; I’m sure the number will rise next year.”</p>
<p>“No,” Hermione said, putting down her quill and stretching. “No, I’m fine, thank you. I know she’s dead, so I can look at it logically when I wake. I think that’s good for me - it gives the dreams less power over me.”</p>
<p>Minerva smiled. “You’re strong,” she whispered, reaching for Hermione’s hand. “And she is dead. Molly Weasley is a force to be reckoned with when one of her children is threatened.”</p>
<p>Hermione swallowed. “How did you know who I meant?” She asked quietly. “I didn’t even mean to say ‘she’.”</p>
<p>“You may not have told me all of your experiences, Hermione, but you did tell me that you were captured and taken to Malfoy Manor, and it is common knowledge that the inner circle was also there. Very few of them were ‘she’s’.” Minerva hesitated, and gently laid her free hand on Hermione’s forearm. “Besides… magical signatures aren’t hidden by glamours.”</p>
<p>Hermione blinked. “Of course,” she murmured. “How long since you noticed?”</p>
<p>Minerva lifted one shoulder gracefully. “Since I stopped wallowing in my own grief for long enough to pay attention,” she admitted. “Since some time in the first few weeks of the rebuild.” She slowly, gently, hooked her fingers under the sleeve of Hermione’s shirt and began to pull it towards her elbow. </p>
<p>Hermione watched dispassionately as the crude scar was revealed slowly, almost reverently. Minerva guarded her expression, knowing Hermione would abhor pity. </p>
<p>“It’s not magical. It’s just a scar,” Hermione told her unemotionally. “I could probably get rid of it, to be honest. I just haven’t decided whether I want to. Like I said after the battle, we need the reminder to stop it from happening again. I just wasn’t ready to share it yet.” She smirked slightly. “Bellatrix didn’t appreciate my comment when she’d finished. It took me a while to get my breath back, sort my thoughts out. I was so close to being completely defeated, but… but then I asked her whether she enjoyed using Muggle methods of torture. She didn’t like that very much.”</p>
<p>Minerva snorted inelegantly and couldn’t help chuckling. Hermione watched her, smiling, that strange fire burning in her eyes again. Minerva had the sudden, surprising thought that she wouldn’t like to find herself on the opposite side of a war to this witch. </p>
<p>“Sod this, I’m done for the night,” Hermione said finally, and flicked her wand decisively. All her notes piled themselves neatly, in order, in the corner of her desk. “Not quite as satisfying as slamming a book shut,” she murmured thoughtfully. Minerva laughed again, and Hermione smiled at her indulgently. </p>
<p>They spent a comfortable evening together, discussing happier topics such as their experiences of muggle primary education, and the smooth running of the exams so far. Hermione felt, for the first time, like a member of the faculty. </p>
<hr/>
<p>The following afternoon, Hermione stretched luxuriously as she exited the Great Hall. She had been pleased with her Arithmancy exam that morning, and she’d just brewed a perfect antidote to the blended poison her examiner had presented. A glance across the hall showed her that Harry, too, looked pleased with his potion - and he was currently demonstrating crushing beans with the flat of his silver knife, showing the examiner how much more juice they released. She shook her head; the Half-Blood Prince had certainly left a lasting impression. </p>
<p>She wandered aimlessly towards the oak doors, and out into the grounds. As usual following brewing, her hair was a tangled mess, and more voluminous than it had been before her exam. It was humid and warm out, and that sort of weather had the same effect on her hair; she thought she might as well do both at once.</p>
<p>Harry joined her beside the lake, under the beech tree they had so often claimed as their own, barely fifteen minutes later. “Hey,” he murmured as he lowered himself to the ground, glancing around. Hermione wondered if he was replaying the scene from the Pensieve, from his father’s fifth year.</p>
<p>“Hey yourself,” she replied, chuckling. “So, how were the exams?”</p>
<p>“Good,” he replied, smiling. “Potions and Defense were good. Transfiguration and Charms weren’t too bad either. You?”</p>
<p>Hermione shrugged and smiled. “Fine,” she agreed. “Not outstanding, but fine.”</p>
<p>Harry wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “You’ve changed, Hermione Granger.”</p>
<p>She leaned into him. “I just expect less of myself now,” she corrected gently. “I’m doing this because I want to, not because I need to prove anything to anyone. There are more important things than grades.”</p>
<p>Harry studied her for a moment. “You’re not sleeping.”</p>
<p>Hermione smiled. “And I knew you would notice. I will be fine, Harry. They never last more than a few days.”</p>
<p>He squeezed her. “Ginny took her Defense exam too,” he told her. “She was amazing. I watched from the door, she was the group after me.”</p>
<p>“You’re so in love it makes me nauseous,” she replied, digging her elbow into his ribs and laughing. </p>
<p>He blinked. “Sorry,” he chuckled. “So come on. Tell me more about this job Ginny says you have.”</p>
<p>Hermione talked to Harry about the job for hours. She told him about the contract and the responsibilities she would have, her worries about mentoring and some of the students’ wellbeing, and what she most wanted to research and study to a higher level. Some of it she’d never verbalised; some of it she hadn’t even fully solidified in her mind yet.</p>
<p>Eventually she had nothing else to tell him. He grinned down at her. “You’re going to be a fantastic mentor,” he told her. “And your research is going to change the world.”</p>
<p>He pulled her to her feet and into a dance under the tree; she laughed as he spun her, an echo of their dance in the tent atop Malham Cove while they were on the run, a moment of light in their darkness. She shook her head at his lack of co-ordination, asking him how on earth he could be so graceful in the air and so ungainly on the ground, and he poked his tongue out at her, just laughing. </p>
<p>“Am I interrupting?” Ginny’s voice was wry and amused. </p>
<p>Harry tugged off his darkened glasses, held his hand out to her and simply stared at her for a moment, as if struck dumb.</p>
<p>Hermione poked him in the ribs. “Nausea,” she murmured. He chuckled, tearing his eyes away, glancing at her. “I’m off,” she said. “I have some notes to ceremoniously burn.”</p>
<p>Ginny snorted. “No way will you burn a single page,” she accused. Hermione - just as Harry had a moment earlier - stuck her tongue out playfully and turned her back on the happy couple, heading back towards the castle. The warmth in her chest was fizzing contentedly and she thanked Merlin - and whoever else cared to listen - that they had the opportunity to live freely again. </p>
<hr/>
<p>Hermione sought out Neville, and found him near the greenhouses, thrown unceremoniously on the grass in a patch of sun, gently tickling a writhing plant.</p>
<p>“So how did they go, Neville?” She called.</p>
<p>He shaded his eyes with a filthy hand and grinned. “Great,” he enthused. “Herbology was wonderful, the examiner talked with me for ages after the official exam was over. And Creatures went well too, some of Lupin’s came up as well as Hagrid’s. Charms wasn’t bad, it might need a resit, we’ll see. Defense was great, the examiner wanted to know all about the DA and he let me cast a Patronus for extra points - and the Patronus came up on the theory too. And Divination… well, Merlin knows what that was.” He rolled his eyes, chuckling. The plant he’d forgotten to tickle slapped his hand; he hurriedly returned his attention to it. “You?”</p>
<p>Hermione nodded. “Fine,” she agreed. “They were fine. What are you doing this summer?”</p>
<p>Neville looked surprised at her short answer, but smiled. “Helping Professor Sprout,” he said proudly. “The greenhouses are recovering quite well but there’s more to be done before they’re ready for a full timetable. Professor McGonagall is allowing me to stay here until term restarts. My Gran is thrilled.”</p>
<p>Hermione carefully added her own hand into the leaves and tickled the plant’s stem. It wriggled happily. </p>
<p>“You’re going to be amazing at that,” Hermione told him, grinning. He grinned back. The plant grew three inches.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Hermione joined everyone in the Great Hall for the feast that night. There were students there, like Harry, who had not attended classes and would not be returning; she wouldn’t need to explain anything to anyone. </p>
<p>The feast was, as ever, exquisite. It tasted even better to Hermione because Minerva had explained to her, only a few weeks ago, that she’d drawn up contracts for the elves, with optional payment, and compulsory medical care and holidays. All the elves were free to terminate their contracts with four weeks’ notice - just like any other Hogwarts employees. Very few declined to sign them, since the alternative was freedom; very few accepted payment; but now they were all bound to Hogwarts magically, just like Hermione, with formal contracts and time off. It was a perfect middle ground.</p>
<p>Hermione had thrown her arms around the older witch. Minerva, taken by surprise, had hugged her back, smiling. </p>
<p>“Some of them were injured in the battle and healed by Poppy and the Healers. I think that, along with Dobby’s influence, has been good for them,” she had told the younger witch.</p>
<p>Thinking of that moment, Hermione lifted her goblet, turned to the teachers’ table, and raised it to Minerva. The Headmistress caught her movement, and sent her a politely confused smile, but lifted her goblet in return. </p>
<p>“You really like her, don’t you?” A voice murmured in Hermione’s ear. She turned to face Luna, who had been on the Ravenclaw table at the start of the feast, but now - inexplicably - was opposite Hermione at the Gryffindor one. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry?” She asked.</p>
<p>Luna smiled dreamily. It was at odds with her appearance; she was thin, evidently barely eating, and she looked exhausted. Hermione made a mental note that she would likely be one of those needing some support the following year. </p>
<p>“Professor McGonagall.”</p>
<p>“Of course,” Hermione agreed, confused. “She’s done a lot for me this last year, and she’s a fantastic teacher. She’s just a brilliant person.”</p>
<p>Luna smiled tiredly. “So are you,” she said in that uncomfortable way of hers, where she told the truth with not an ounce of embarrassment. “You’re good together.”</p>
<p>“What do you mean?”</p>
<p>Luna blinked. “You don’t know?”</p>
<p>Hermione was mystified. “Know what?”</p>
<p>“Never mind,” Luna replied. It was only how serious she had become that stopped Hermione from pushing her - for the dreamy, absent picture Luna usually presented was gone. She was alert, and engaged, and she wasn’t smiling. Hermione swallowed, and stared at her for another long moment before turning back to her food.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The following morning, a strong arm wrapped around her. She didn’t flinch. She’d seen the silver tabby slinking behind the station building; she’d known she had company.</p>
<p>She continued to watch the scarlet engine and familiar carriages out of sight, until the smoke was but a smudge on the horizon. </p>
<p>“There’s something magical about it,” she murmured. “No matter how Muggle an invention it is.”</p>
<p>Minerva made a sound of agreement in her throat. “Aye,” she agreed eventually.</p>
<p>Hermione turned in the circle of her arm to look up at her, tracing that pearly scar with her gaze. “You get more Scottish when you’re relaxed,” she accused gently. “Your accent gets stronger, and words like that creep in.”</p>
<p>“Problem, lass?”</p>
<p>Hermione grinned. “Nope,” she replied. “I love it.” She blushed. </p>
<p>Minerva blushed a little, too. “Mòran taing,” she murmured, and hesitated. “The castle is going to feel far too quiet, now.”</p>
<p>“They’ll be back,” Hermione comforted her, crossing her arm over her own stomach to hold the one Minerva was resting on her hip. “Just have to make the next few weeks busy ones. Was that Gaelic?”</p>
<p>“Probably,” Minerva raised an eyebrow and sighed. “It pops out sometimes. Come, have lunch with me?”</p>
<p>Hermione interlaced their fingers and smiled. “Yes,” she replied simply. “Thank you.” </p>
<hr/>
<p>It took two weeks for the results to arrive. Hermione spent the time preparing her new classroom; it was set up, in one corner, a little like the Room of Requirement had been for the DA, with mats and dummies. There was a brewing area in the opposite corner, a stock of cushions and feathers in another, and matches and chess pieces in the last. There were desks in the centre and books lining the walls between each area. It was perfect.</p>
<p>Minerva was amazed. “Have you expanded the room?” She asked. </p>
<p>“A little,” Hermione admitted apologetically. </p>
<p>“But <em>how</em>?”</p>
<p>Hermione blinked. “I used the wards, and some magic, and asked nicely,” she replied. “Hogwarts seems to like me. I haven’t caught a trick stair since my return.”</p>
<p>Minerva shook her head. “Have you felt at all unusual since your exams finished?”</p>
<p>“No, I’m sleeping much better,” Hermione replied. “I’m fine.”</p>
<p>Minerva chuckled. “I am very glad to hear it,” she said, reaching for Hermione’s hand, “but I wasn’t referring to your nightmares. I meant odd sensations. Itching, or gentle flames, or - or heaviness in any limbs. Anything physical.”</p>
<p>Hermione, raising her eyebrows, shook her head. “Nothing.”</p>
<p>The Headmistress sighed. “I tested the wards,” she said gently. “You aren’t part of them. I have no doubt that you can feel them after the work you did to repair them, but you shouldn’t have known that Mister Potter had arrived, and you shouldn’t have been able to expand this room.”</p>
<p>Hermione opened her mouth and closed it again. “I haven’t just expanded it,” she said shiftily. She stood up, pulling Minerva along with her, and pulled open a door that materialised only once she reached for its handle. It led to an empty room, at least as big again as the classroom they had left behind. Minerva could feel the magic thrumming within it. She closed her eyes, concentrating for a moment.</p>
<p>“These enchantments are advanced,” she said finally. “Beyond advanced.”</p>
<p>“Suitable for magical research?” Hermione asked. </p>
<p>“Absolutely. But how?”</p>
<p>Hermione had no response. She just shrugged wordlessly, chewing her lip thoughtfully. Minerva’s hand was still encased in hers, and she rubbed her thumb across her knuckles absent-mindedly. The silence stretched.</p>
<p>“Owl,” they both said together suddenly, and made for the classroom. Hermione was chuckling, but Minerva was frowning. </p>
<p>
  <em>She shouldn’t have known that. How did she know that?</em>
</p>
<p>“Oh,” Hermione said softly, seeing the Ministry owl at the window. “It’s today.” She opened the window with shaking hands and the owl flew in, perching on the desk, staring at her imperiously.</p>
<p>“I’ll leave you to it,” Minerva said, taking a step towards the door. </p>
<p>A small hand closed around her wrist, warm and soft. “Stay,” Hermione whispered. “Please.”</p>
<p>Minerva remembered Hermione’s third year exams, and the Boggart Remus had informed her of. She swallowed and smiled, hoping that Hermione wanted her there as a friend, and not as a fear to face. “Of course,” she replied. She drew her wand, and with it drew a chair, and then transfigured it into a small sofa. </p>
<p>Hermione smiled at the display of magic and gently removed the letter, stroking the owl gratefully with a gentle finger. It hooted softly in return and took off out of the open window, leaving the two witches alone. The trembling of Hermione’s fingers made it almost impossible to lift the wax seal; Minerva held out her hands wordlessly and pulled flap of the envelope free. Hermione smiled gratefully and pulled out the thick parchment inside, unfolding it carefully. </p>
<p>
  <em>Arithmancy: O</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Astronomy: E</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Charms: O</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Defence Against the Dark Arts: E</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Herbology: E</em>
  <br/>
  <em>History of Magic: E</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Muggle Studies: O</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Potions: O</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Study of Ancient Runes: E</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Transfiguration: O</em>
</p>
<p>She breathed out a shaky sigh and smiled. </p>
<p>“You look pleased,” Minerva said gently; inquiring without asking outright. </p>
<p>“I am,” she agreed, and handed over her parchment, cheeks aching with her smile.</p>
<p>“Ten,” Minerva counted faintly. “Ten NEWTs in eight weeks.” She shook her head, laughing, and suddenly stood up, pulling Hermione with her and wrapping her in a hug. “You are amazing, lass. Amazing.”</p>
<p>Hermione felt happier with that announcement than her results. The fizzing of Hogwarts’ contract was replicated below her belly button and she giggled as Minerva spun them around gently, still holding her tightly. <em>What was wrong with her?</em></p>
<p>“Survived a bloody war and still can’t get an O in defense, though,” she replied, laughing. Minerva glanced down at the paper and rolled her eyes, smile widening. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Are you related to William McGonagall?” Hermione asked casually, breaking the comfortable silence they had been keeping as they worked. </p>
<p>“Who?” Minerva asked absent-mindedly, examining her parchment with her eyebrows drawn together in a frown.</p>
<p>“William McGonagall. Before I knew your father was a Muggle, I assumed the name was a co-incidence, but now… especially given his line of work… I can’t help but wonder.”</p>
<p>Minerva looked up. “What was his line of work?”</p>
<p>Hermione chuckled. “He was a poet in the nineteenth century. Not nearly as good as you, mind.”</p>
<p>The Headmistress snorted. “I’m sure he was much better than I am if his poetry has lasted so many years. Perhaps he was a relative; the surname is not common.”</p>
<p>“He is famed for how terrible his poetry was,” Hermione said softly. “I can assure you that yours would last longer and for better reasons if you would claim authorship.”</p>
<p>Minerva rolled her eyes. “Thank you,” she said, “But no thank you. I’ll look him up, though, I could do with a laugh.”</p>
<p>The silence returned for a few minutes, broken only by scratching quills, until Minerva sighed. “What now?” She asked.</p>
<p>“I didn’t say anything.”</p>
<p>“You didn’t need to,” Minerva replied shortly, but kindly. “I can <em>hear</em> you thinking. Spit it out, lass.”</p>
<p>Hermione hesitated, wondering how she could be so transparent, and wondering whether she dared ask her question. She reached for Minerva’s left hand across the magically-extended desk they were working on opposite sides of, and ran her fingers across Minerva’s knuckles, resting eventually on one long, thin, elegant finger - the fourth. </p>
<p>“You were married,” she stated simply. </p>
<p>Minerva stared at her. “How could you possibly know that?”</p>
<p>Hermione swallowed, her eyes darting away from Minerva’s piercing, incredulous emerald. “You fiddle with this finger sometimes. Like you’re spinning a ring.”</p>
<p>“Your observation skills are, as ever, flawless,” Minerva replied sardonically after a loaded pause. “Yes, I used to wear a ring on that finger. Hardly proof of marriage.”</p>
<p>Hermione bit her lip. “You still wear your signet ring on the fourth finger of your other hand. The left is generally reserved for a wedding ring in this country, although that’s not the case in Europe. Your finger shows no visible mark of where the ring has been, so you haven’t worn it for some time, and yet you still sometimes go to touch it - as if it held significant importance to you. It was a wedding ring.”</p>
<p>Minerva pulled her hand out of Hermione’s and pushed her chair back. Her expression was somewhere between pained and angry. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset - I just… I wanted you to know I’d noticed. Like you did with my scar.”</p>
<p>Her expression softened a little. She cleared her throat. “This is not a signet ring,” she said gently, lifting her right hand. “It is a Luckenbooth, a Scottish symbol of love and loyalty, given to me by my late husband.”</p>
<p>Hermione swallowed. Given Minerva’s age, she had assumed the marriage had failed - not that her husband had died. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. </p>
<p>Minerva’s lips quirked up just barely at the corners. “Thank you,” she said gently. “Elphinstone and I had a short, but happy marriage. He was a good man.”</p>
<p>There was more to the story, Hermione could feel it. “But…?” She prompted gently.</p>
<p>“But nothing. He proposed many times. We were content. When he passed, I lost one of my closest friends. When Albus passed, I lost the only other person who understood. I miss Elphinstone every day.”</p>
<p>Hermione could see the tears swimming in mossy green eyes and stood, walking around the desk to wrap Minerva in a hug. She knew there was something missing; she knew that Minerva worried her ring finger for some other reason, and that the man she had married was not the man she loved. Clearly today was not the day to push it, though. </p>
<p>“How long?” She asked gently, resting her chin on Minerva’s head and gently stroking her back. </p>
<p>“We were engaged in 1982, married the following summer. He died in 1986.” Minerva shook herself free of Hermione’s embrace and cleared her throat. “I need to discuss some students with Poppy. Shall I see you at dinner?”</p>
<p>Hermione bit her lip and nodded. “Luna wasn’t herself during the summer school,” she said quietly. “She’s thin and pale and tired. If she’s not on your list, you may want to add her.”</p>
<p>Minerva sighed. “I will,” she agreed as she swept out. Her hand settled for barely a moment on Hermione’s shoulder as she passed, letting her know that she was forgiven.</p>
<hr/>
<p>“Minerva,” Hermione started, and hesitated. “Never mind.”</p>
<p>The witch in question rolled her eyes, sat up and stretched. The light had faded from the windows as they’d worked; only now did she realise how dim it was. She took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose, sighing, and then replaced the square frames and lit the candles and lamps with a wave of her hand.</p>
<p>“Come,” she said resignedly. “Let’s call it a night.” She stood and moved to the seating area, lifting a decanter from the centre of the table and offering it to Hermione, one eyebrow raised in question. </p>
<p>“What is it?” Hermione asked, studying the amber liquid as she rounded the sofa and sank into its cushions. </p>
<p>“Whiskey,” Minerva replied. “The Muggle kind. This is a Dalmore single malt, from the Highlands.”</p>
<p>Hermione hesitated, and then nodded. “Sure, thanks,” she said. “I haven’t really tried alcohol yet. Never got round to it, somehow, apart from wine.”</p>
<p>Minerva chuckled ruefully. “Wars do tend to get in the way of the usual celebrations for coming of age,” she allowed, handing Hermione a tumbler and raising her own. Hermione clinked hers gently to Minerva’s and took a small sip. </p>
<p>“Oh!” She exclaimed. “It’s like… it’s like liquid fruit cake!”</p>
<p>Minerva laughed. “A little,” she agreed. “Fruit and some kind of spice - I believe it’s nutmeg. Now… you were going to ask me something.”</p>
<p>Hermione bit her lip. “I think I need to stop asking you things,” she countered gently, reminding them both of their conversation about Minerva’s husband a couple of days prior. She studied her glass; she was mesmerised by the colour of the thick liquid, the see-through deposit it left on the glass when she tilted it - and determined not to look at Minerva.</p>
<p>The older witch watched her for a moment and then sighed. “I assume that means it was a personal question. Hermione, I don’t open up to people. Never have. If you want to know anything, you are going to have to ask, and I will decide how - or whether - to answer. I’m not going to bring anything up without prompting because it’s not what I do, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t tell you if you wanted to know.”</p>
<p>Hermione bit her lip. “I… I wondered about the first war. You said you joined the effort when you came of age, but Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald before you started at Hogwarts, assuming your Head Girl plaque is correctly dated.”</p>
<p>Minerva’s shoulders relaxed. It was an easier question than she’d been anticipating; she was even a little flattered at how much attention Hermione had paid. “So he did,” she agreed. “You can imagine how starstruck I was when my Transfiguration Professor was the same man who had duelled the tyrant Grindelwald and won the summer before my schooling began. There was so much I didn’t understand.” She traced the rim of her glass with her finger, absent-minded. “My mother was an incredible witch with a gift for Charms. She gave it all up for my father. She watched the Muggle wars and the rise of Grindelwald and she was powerless to help in either. She hated it; she was full of spirit. She would have been formidable in a war.” Minerva suddenly and decisively threw back the rest of her whiskey and poured another.</p>
<p>“She named you <em>Minerva</em>. I could have guessed that,” Hermione said gently, smiling. </p>
<p>“Yes, that raised some eyebrows in the village, so I’m told. Goddess of wisdom and war - the child of a Reverend.” Minerva twisted her lips in a smile. “I took after my father more than my mother, though. He was wise and gentle, and he stayed with my mother when he found out what she was.”</p>
<p>Hermione smiled at the faraway look in Minerva’s eyes, and took her hand gently, revelling in the fact that she <em>could</em>. The older witch gripped her hand tightly in return.</p>
<p>“You might be mostly gentle and incredibly wise, but you <em>were</em> formidable during the battle,” Hermione whispered. The sound that had ripped from Minerva’s throat when Harry had been carried into view by Hagrid echoed through her mind. </p>
<p>Minerva smiled grimly. “I am still my mother’s daughter,” she allowed. “Grindelwald was defeated before I started at Hogwarts but unlike Voldemort, he did not lead through fear. He was charismatic and inspiring - a lot like Adolf Hitler, in fact. When he fell, his followers - unlike Voldemort’s - did not. They were loyal to his cause, rather than to him; they took up his fight. It was no longer a war, as such - but his network were still quietly operating, and they required delicate dismantling.”</p>
<p>Her careful wording wasn’t lost on Hermione. “You were a spy,” she surmised. </p>
<p>Minerva chuckled. “For a short time, and it was not nearly so glamorous as the Muggle shows suggest, nor as heroic as Severus’s efforts. It was still an eye opener, though not as bloody as the war itself had been.” She paused, took another sip of her drink. “I learned about magical signatures because that is the easiest way to identify people when I am in my Animagus form. My eyesight changes, my understanding of the world changes a little; people don’t look or sound quite the same when I am in cat form compared to human form. But a magical signature is universal. Hermione, why are you suddenly so curious about my life?”</p>
<p>Hermione startled at the sudden change in subject, and took a careful, considered sip of her whiskey, rolling the thick flavour around her mouth. “Bit of vanilla,” she murmured to herself, before glancing up at Minerva and gathering her courage. “You have always been a very private person. Spending the year rebuilding Hogwarts with you… I saw you smile and laugh more in the first couple of weeks than I’ve ever seen. I meant what I said at the anniversary - getting to know you is one of the best outcomes of the war. I think… I think I just realise how lucky I am to be <em>allowed</em> to get to know you, and I don’t want to waste it.” She looked back down at her glass. “Elements of our personalities are similar. Elements of our experiences are similar. I suppose I’m curious about the connection I feel to you.” She downed what was left in her glass, suddenly desperate to avoid looking at Minerva, to avoid whatever expression her too-honest words had brought to those regal features. </p>
<p>Minerva, for her part, was speechless. She didn’t think her friendship meant nearly as much to Hermione as Hermione’s did to her; she was re-evaulating that assumption now, and to give herself time to think, she delicately finished her second glass of whiskey and poured them both fresh ones. </p>
<p>“You have never asked before,” Minerva said thoughtfully. “You have been curious, but you have never asked any questions.”</p>
<p>Hermione looked up as her refilled glass was pushed gently into her hands. “I didn’t feel I could. I still felt like a student; like asking you anything personal would be inappropriate. But you <em>shared</em> information, and those photos. You told me about your writing. With the contract, and I suppose my NEWTs as well, it just… felt more acceptable.”</p>
<p>There was a loaded silence; Minerva’s eyes danced over every inch of Hermione’s face. “I’m glad you feel comfortable enough to ask,” she said finally. “I don’t believe there is a great deal I would withhold from you any more, Hermione Granger.”</p>
<p>For a couple of heartbeats, Hermione didn’t breathe at all. Then she swallowed, and lifted her glass to her lips, feeling her cheeks burn hotter than the thick liquid sliding down her throat.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Hermione paced up and down her office. The Hogwarts Express was due to arrive in the next two hours. She was dressed for the feast in her new robes; she’d chosen a very dark muted burgundy, both as a nod to her Gryffindor roots and simply because she’d never worn anything but black. She was regretting her choice now; she felt overdressed, awkward, unsure. She snorted at herself and turned, striding back across the room. Her hair, no longer down, but loosely plaited, swung; her new robes billowed. </p>
<p>She came to a stop a moment before a knock sounded at her door, and despite her nerves, a gentle smile graced her lips. “Come in, Minerva. I thought you’d be far too busy to come by today.”</p>
<p>The door opened and a bemused Minerva popped her head around it. “How did you know it was me?”</p>
<p>“Signature,” Hermione said shortly, suddenly self-conscious again. “Surely you wondered why the portrait never asks you for a password?”</p>
<p>Minerva raised an eyebrow. “I assumed you had yet to set one,” she mused. “Thank you for your trust. And may I say that you look every bit a part of the faculty, and nothing like Miss Granger the student.”</p>
<p>Hermione coloured as dark as her robes. “I feel ridiculous. I feel like an imposter,” she mumbled. </p>
<p>“We all get start of term jitters,” Minerva reassured her. “Even now. Your first year will be your worst, naturally.”</p>
<p>“What is everyone even going to call me?” She burst out. “I went to school with some of them, they know me as the know-it-all, bushy-haired, buck-toothed -”</p>
<p>“Hermione.” Minerva cut her off, and stepped into her personal space, gently cupping her cheek. “You have all fought in a war since then. They were children, jealous and cruel, and now they are adults. So are you. You are capable and intelligent, and you’re going to be invaluable to the staff and the students. You look- you look wonderful.” She dipped her head and caught Hermione’s eyes, for they were studying the floor; she waited a beat until the golden-brown irises focused on her own, proving that she was listening. “You’re going to do great. Alright?”</p>
<p>Hermione swallowed and nodded. Minerva could feel the contraction of the young witch’s throat under her fingertips and it made her mouth go dry; she closed her eyes briefly, willing her heart to stop racing. <em>What was wrong with her?</em></p>
<p>“I’m not a Professor. What is my title going to be?” Hermione asked quietly.</p>
<p>“You can remain Miss Granger, or take the ‘Madam’ honorific, like Madams Pomfrey and Pince,” Minerva responded gently. “I have no doubt that you will gain the title of Professor in the long-run.”</p>
<p>Hermione sighed. “Madam, I suppose,” she grumbled. “Makes me feel a bit older and less like a student.”</p>
<p>Minerva chuckled, stroking her cheekbone with a gentle thumb. Hermione turned to kiss her palm, hardly thinking about it - and then she froze. <em>What was wrong with her?</em></p>
<p>Minerva stood stock-still, palm tingling. </p>
<p>Finally, Hermione cleared her throat. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “Don’t… really know what happened there.”</p>
<p>And Minerva pulled her hand back to her side and willed her voice to remain steady. “Not a problem. Now, you have an hour before the feast. I trust you won’t wear a hole in your floor with your pacing?” She raised an eyebrow and Hermione - still scarlet - blushed harder. </p>
<p>“I’ll take the longest route I know to the Great Hall,” she decided, rolling her eyes at herself. “Can’t sit still. Which seat at the table is mine?”</p>
<p>“If you are not opposed to company, I will walk with you. You are not the sole sufferer of pre-term nerves; after all, this is the first year I am acting as Headmistress, and the first school year after the war. I have a lot to prove, and sitting in that seat at the staff table...”</p>
<p>Hermione gave in to the urge to hold Minerva’s hand, reaching for it almost desperately. The older woman, again, was volunteering her worries to the younger; she was sharing her vulnerabilities in a way Hermione had never expected, but nevertheless cherished. “You are going to be brilliant. Professor Dumbledore wouldn’t want anyone else in that seat, I’m sure of it. Come on, let’s walk.”</p>
<p>And they did, pacing the halls slowly, arm in arm, gently reassuring one another that each would be outstanding at their jobs. By the time Minerva showed Hermione her seat, between Hagrid, currently absent, and Madam Pomfrey, they both felt infinitely better; Hermione squeezed Minerva’s arm gently as they untangled themselves, and whispered a final encouragement. Minerva smiled back and turned, heading for the ornate chair in the centre of the table; when they had all arrived, her Heads of House would be on either side of her. Filius’s seat, piled high with cushions, was one of those still empty; he would be awaiting the first years. </p>
<p>Pomona smirked at Minerva and transferred her gaze to the newest addition to their staff team and back again. Minerva huffed. </p>
<p>“Shut up,” she muttered. </p>
<p>Pomona, looking surprisingly clean for once, snorted. “Eloquent,” she replied. “Hope your start-of-term speech is a little more considered.”</p>
<p>Minerva scowled at her long-time friend, and Pomona mimed zipping her lips - and then unzipped them again. “I told you so,” she added. Then she zipped them back up, and Minerva couldn’t help it - she laughed.</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you to LibMcGranger for beta-ing this &lt;3 sorry for the time between updates, I'm doing my best! Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hermione couldn’t believe it was almost Hallowe’en. </p>
<p>Her first few weeks of mentoring at Hogwarts had been as wonderful as she’d hoped. Her nerves at the Start-of-Term Feast had been misplaced; Hagrid had been a huge and comforting presence beside her, and his pride had warmed her from the inside out. Minerva had introduced her and she’d simply stood and smiled; there was applause, and she regained her seat. Just like for the new Transfiguration Professor, and the new Potions Professor, and all the other new members of staff. </p>
<p>The First Years had taken a long time to sort; there were almost eighty of them. Hermione was fairly certain she had been in an intake of thirty-two. </p>
<p>The Sorting Hat’s song had been welcoming, warming, and cautionary; it told students to value friends in other houses as well as their own. In the silence after its proclamation, Luna had stood and made her way over to the Gryffindor table to sit between Neville and Ginny; both had wrapped their arms around her. It was the catalyst; in a sudden burst of movement, most of the hall had moved; uniforms trimmed in all the house colours were present on each table. Hermione had been pleased to note that the Slytherins were, generally speaking, welcomed into other houses; however, very few students moved onto their table, over at the far left of the hall. Once the movement had settled, Minerva got to her feet and began to clap. It had been magical. Each mealtime now contained students from every house sat at every table. </p>
<hr/>
<p>Hermione’s nerves before her first mentoring session had wildly eclipsed those she felt before the Start-of-Term Feast. She’d spent time over the summer gathering information on the various year group syllabi from each Professor, so it wasn’t like she was unsure on what she needed to do, but… well, she was allowed to worry about how she was going to do it - and do it well. </p>
<p>The Professors were referring students to her. Every so often, an owl would arrive at her office window, or a piece of parchment would appear on her desk, containing details of students and their difficulties with whichever subject. And then it was up to her to devise a teaching plan and contact the student with that plan. Some were more receptive than others, of course.</p>
<p>“I don’t need your help,” one fifth year boy had snapped. “I’ll figure it out.” And he’d hurried away, glancing around to see whether anyone had seen him speaking to her. Hermione watched him go, sighing. <em> Ravenclaw. Determined to manage on their own, </em> she mused. After that, she’d stuck to owls. </p>
<p>Most students, though, were happy to have the extra help - even if some asked a few too many personal questions. </p>
<p>“Did you really break into Gringotts and escape on a dragon?”</p>
<p>“Miss Ellacott, I really don’t think that’s relevant to your currently-failing attempts to Transfigure your mouse into a snuffbox!” Hermione snapped. “Now if you would please concentrate, we will try again. Visualise the snuffbox. Concentrate on the theory we discussed last week; remember this mouse is a mammal.”</p>
<p>At the end of that particular session, she caught Minerva leaning on the doorframe in the doorway to her private rooms. Miss Ellacott, naturally, left through the students’ door to the corridor - the opposite direction; she didn’t realise the Headmistress was present. </p>
<p>Hermione raised an eyebrow at her.</p>
<p>“Notice-me-not and disillusionment charm? Really, Minerva?”</p>
<p>The Headmistress chuckled. “For the students’ benefit rather than your own, naturally,” she replied, removing both. “You are good at this. And that is a better snuffbox than I have seen for a while.” She picked up the successful Transfiguration and examined it. “You focus on the theory much more than the usual syllabus does. It appears to be paying off.” She reversed the Transfiguration and gently lowered the mouse back into its cage.</p>
<p>Hermione, scarlet-cheeked, cleared her throat. “I found understanding the theory improved my spellwork and Harry’s. Ron never tried hard enough for me to work out a difference with him, though.” She approached Minerva and nudged her. “I thought you were supposed to let me know so I could prepare for my appraisals?”</p>
<p>Minerva looked stricken, and said quickly, “This isn’t an appraisal, I just - I wanted to -“</p>
<p>Hermione laughed, stopping her with a gentle hand on her forearm, shaking her head. “I was joking,” she said gently. </p>
<p>“I didn’t mean to intrude.”</p>
<p>Minerva looked so achingly insecure in that moment that Hermione couldn’t help but draw her into a hug. “You aren’t,” she assured her. “You couldn’t.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>The night before the Halloween Feast, Hermione was in the Great Hall, helping with the decoration. Professor Sprout was monitoring Hagrid and his pumpkins, and the bats were already loose. Professor Flitwick was charming the candles to blacks and purples, and teaching the skeletons to dance. Hermione was attempting to carve the remaining pumpkins; she’d managed to scoop out the insides, but she was seriously considering requesting a knife from the house elves to do the rest the muggle way.</p>
<p>“Here,” Professor Sprout said, marching over. “Let me show you.”</p>
<p>Hermione watched closely as the witch demonstrated a more refined cutting technique, and then carefully mimicked it.</p>
<p>“Tricky little charm,” Professor Flitwick squeaked. “Anyway, when are you beginning your Mastery studies, Madam Granger? I would be pleased to instruct you, whenever you feel the time is right.”</p>
<p>Professor Sprout hummed. “You’d make a Herbology Master too, my dear, if you were interested - although I suspect your interests lie elsewhere. No matter, I have Mister Longbottom to look forward to.”</p>
<p>Hermione smiled weakly at her and she winked knowingly back and marched away to chastise Hagrid’s treatment of the smallest pumpkin, which he had almost crushed. Hermione turned back to Professor Flitwick, and swallowed.</p>
<p>“You’d take me on as a Mastery Apprentice? While you’re teaching and acting as Deputy Head?” She asked.</p>
<p>“Of course. You’re picking up all the students who are struggling and doing an excellent job of whipping them into shape,” he said, twinkling up at her. “I have no doubt that your Mastery studies would take less time than average.”</p>
<p>Hermione grinned. “I would love to do a Charms Mastery,” she admitted. “I have no idea how the Masteries work in terms of levels or study times, but I would absolutely love to. Thank you so much.”</p>
<p>Professor Flitwick bobbed excitedly on the balls of his feet. “I will send you some reading materials for the next term,” he told her, voice getting somehow even higher in his excitement. “We can start during the Christmas break or, if you are leaving the castle for the festive period, just after.”</p>
<p>And he shot her the widest smile she’d ever seen him sport, exposing his pointy, goblin-like teeth, and hurried away - forgetting all about the remaining candles and the three still-limp skeletons. </p>
<hr/>
<p>“What on Earth have you done to Filius?”</p>
<p>Hermione jumped. She had been dozing in front of her fire, full from the exquisite Halloween feast and reminiscing about trolls and deathday parties.</p>
<p>“Wha?” She mumbled.</p>
<p>Minerva chuckled and settled on the sofa beside her. “I asked what you’d done to Filius. He didn’t stop talking about you for the whole feast, anyone would think you’d slipped him a Wheezes love potion.<em> Hermione’s charm work </em> this and <em> Hermione’s wand movement </em>that. Keeps saying how much he’ll miss you in his classes, and how your spellwork is the finest he’s ever had the pleasure of teaching.”</p>
<p>Hermione blinked and pushed herself upright. Somehow Minerva’s presence in her private rooms didn’t strike her as odd; she wasn’t surprised in the slightest. “Mm, haven’t love potion,” she murmured, stretching and clearing her throat. When she felt a little more grounded in reality, and a little more convinced that she wasn’t dreaming, she sighed and smiled. “He offered to take me on as a Charms Mastery student. I accepted.”</p>
<p>“Hermione, that’s - that’s wonderful!”</p>
<p>Hermione squinted at Minerva, sensing some hesitation. “You have mixed feelings,” she said. </p>
<p>Minerva flushed. “No, I’m very pleased for you - <em> very </em>. Filius has only taken two previous Mastery students; he picks and chooses his Apprentices very carefully. That he offered to mentor you is an achievement in itself, even if you had refused.”</p>
<p>“But?” Hermione challenged gently.</p>
<p>“But… but I rather thought you would want to complete your Transfiguration Mastery.”</p>
<p>Hermione stared at her for a moment and then a slow grin spread across her face. “Minerva McGonagall, are you jealous?”</p>
<p>The Headmistress huffed a little and shuffled uncomfortably. <em> What was wrong with her?  </em></p>
<p>“Perhaps,” she muttered. “Anyone would be privileged to have you as an Apprentice, myself included.”</p>
<p>“I do want to achieve my Transfiguration Mastery,” Hermione reassured her. “And Potions, and possibly Healing. Maybe others, I don’t know yet. But I thought it was frowned upon to approach a Master and ask for an Apprentice position unless they were publicly advertising for students.”</p>
<p>Minerva blinked at her. “So it is,” she allowed. “But this is <em> us </em>, Hermione. You could have asked me. I was just giving you time to settle into mentoring.”</p>
<p>Hermione sighed and leaned her head on Minerva’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know. Sometimes I feel so lost in the Wizarding world, especially all the etiquette and tradition. I missed out on so much of it.”</p>
<p>“I know, lass. I felt the same at your age.” Minerva kissed Hermione’s hair and they remained in comfortable silence for a moment. “Hold on… <em> how </em> many masteries?” She asked suddenly, incredulous.</p>
<p>The younger witch winced. “I know,” she sighed. “But I need a pretty high level of understanding in multiple disciplines to be able to study the gaps between them.”</p>
<p>Minerva chuckled. “You’re nothing if not ambitious,” she murmured, and Hermione could feel her cheek, resting atop her head, crease with her smile. “You’d better come Apprentice with me when Filius is finished with you.”</p>
<p>Hermione pressed closer to the older witch, breathing in her ginger smell, the tang of peppermint. “I can’t wait,” she sighed, and her smile was so wide it made her cheeks ache.</p>
<hr/>
<p>It was a Saturday in the middle of November when Hermione first saw Luna at closer quarters than from her spot at the teachers’ table in the Great Hall. She was standing with her fists clenched in the fifth floor corridor just a few portraits along from the door to Ravenclaw Tower. Her hair was straggly and knotted, her wrists skeletally thin, and she seemed utterly oblivious to Hermione’s presence. </p>
<p>“Luna?” Hermione asked tentatively, stepping up beside her. </p>
<p>Luna jumped terribly and scuttled backwards. Hermione swallowed. She knew she had gotten away lightly from the war - her nightmares were dead, and her parents and most of her friends were alive. She knew that Luna had suffered terribly, and she wondered whether she was accepting any support from the staff at all. </p>
<p>“Luna, it’s me, Hermione,” she said gently. “Are you alright?”</p>
<p>Luna visibly shook herself and her fighting stance relaxed fractionally. “What did you say to me when we first met?” She asked abruptly.</p>
<p>Hermione frowned. She wasn’t proud of that particular moment. “I said that the Quibbler was a load of rubbish,” she said slowly, “And then you told me your dad was the editor. He was running a story about Sirius Black and Stubby Boardman being the same person at the time… I’m sorry about what I said, and I don’t think the Quibbler is complete rubbish, but I still don’t believe that particular story.”</p>
<p>Luna’s mouth quirked up at the corners and she wavered there for a moment, and then collapsed into Hermione’s arms and sobbed. Hermione, somewhat thrown by the outburst of emotion from the usually stoic witch - albeit in an oddly dreamy way - patted her awkwardly on the back. </p>
<p>“I can’t - I can’t get in the common room!” She sobbed. </p>
<p>Hermione rubbed her gently on the back, flinching as she felt the protuberant vertebrae and each of her ribs, shushing her. “Come on,” she murmured, “Let’s go and have another try, shall we?” She wrapped her arm around Luna and guided her slowly back towards the Ravenclaw common room door. Luna’s sobs turned into silent heaves of her chest, and her collarbones jutted sharply out. Her eyes ran with noiseless tears and she didn’t blink; she was poised to run, as if the slightest sound would scare her off.</p>
<p>Hermione gently knocked the bronze eagle knocker and it blinked sleepily at her, then at Luna. If a bronze eagle could look guilty, Hermione was sure this one did. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” it whispered, “I made it as basic as I could for her.” And then, more loudly, recited, “What waxes until the werewolf howls, and wanes as the cry fades away?”</p>
<p>Hermione frowned. “The moon,” she answered, surprised at the riddle’s simplicity. She glanced sideways at Luna, who had fallen silent, glassy eyed; she seemed entirely vacant. </p>
<p>She walked automatically through the opening door to the common room and pulled herself free of Hermione, aiming for the stairs.</p>
<p>“Madam Granger?”</p>
<p>Hermione tore her gaze from Luna’s retreating back. Morag MacDougal stood beside her; the freckles on her left cheek were marred by a burn scar, and her left eye was milky. Her right was looking at the doorway Luna had disappeared through. </p>
<p>“Miss MacDougal,” Hermione responded tiredly. </p>
<p>“Luna isn’t okay,” Morag said quietly.</p>
<p>“Indeed. And how are you?” </p>
<p>She shrugged lightly and turned to look at Hermione; it was an exaggerated movement. The milky eye was blind. “I’m getting by. It’s lonely here without my little sister, but it’s nice to be where she lived so fully. I’m enjoying my lessons, but it’s hard because I keep wanting to tell her all the amazing things she’ll get to learn when she gets to my age. Except she won't.”</p>
<p>Hermione squeezed Morag’s shoulder. “Don’t stop telling people, Morag. As you have lost a younger sibling, so others have lost an older. This castle is full of lost souls now - the best thing we can do is reach out to one another.”</p>
<p>Morag nodded. “Luna won’t,” she explained. “She won’t tell anyone anything. I suppose she never did because everyone laughed at her. But it’s eating her up inside. She isn’t even close to her father any more - she’s had no post since the start of term. I don’t know whether he ever finished rebuilding their house.”</p>
<p>Hermione sighed. “I’ll look into it. Thank you, Morag. Would you let me know if anything changes? And of course if you need anything.”</p>
<p>“I will.” Morag smiled and turned to follow Luna up the stairs. Hermione watched her go helplessly, feeling - for the first time - like she wasn’t doing enough. She let herself wilt for a moment, leaning on the wall beside the common room door to absorb everything she had just seen.</p>
<p>Most of her mentoring students were younger years - OWL and below. Some had lost friends and family, some had fled and been on the run - but few had been directly involved in any of the battles. Luna, though - Luna had been at the school under the Carrows and, like Neville, had not fallen into line. Even if she had, her father hadn’t. Then she’d been kidnapped, and held, and tortured. Luna had stayed strong for Ollivander, Harry and Ron had told her about that - and yet when her ordeal was over, she’d gone home to find her father broken, having betrayed Harry, and her home destroyed. </p>
<p>Morag had lost the sight in her left eye, and her little sister - Hermione had a feeling Maisie had only been a third year. Morag was healing. She was learning again, and obviously taking advantage of what Hogwarts was offering by way of healing - and Healing - and talking. </p>
<p>Luna was not.</p>
<p>Hermione walked slowly back to her rooms, completely forgetting that it was lunch time. She was wracking her brains, trying to come up with a way to help Luna - a way to reach her. She sank into the chair at her desk and stared unseeingly across the room.</p>
<p>It took her longer than it should have. She was thinking like a witch, considering potions and spells, Healing techniques… </p>
<p>All it really took was for her to think like a muggle. No, not even that - to think like a human. Like a friend.</p>
<p><em> Friend </em>. The image of her own face, and Harry’s, Ron’s, Neville’s, Ginny’s, wavered in her mind’s eye and turned to rubble. </p>
<p>Luna had been pulled from Ginny and Neville, off the Hogwarts Express, and held at Malfoy Manor. She’d been reunited with the so-called Golden Trio, only for them to run off and leave her at Shell Cottage. Hermione didn’t even know what had happened to her after that. She was withdrawing from them now - because they’d been taken from her first. Luna didn’t have the words to explain that she couldn’t deal with human company yet, because she’d spent most of her captivity without it, and wondering how her friends were - and then they’d left her behind again. </p>
<p>She was alone.</p>
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